Wonder Woman and Superman in The End of Days
by NWHS
Summary: Wonder Woman and Superman fight to stop an apocalypse on four Earths. These are the end of days, and our heroes are to blame. Warning, this is a dark story.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Wonder Woman and Superman**

**Author: NWHS**

* * *

**The End of Days**

* * *

**Prologue**

**Earth-36**

** 2044**

"And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

And I saw, and behold a _white horse_: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth _conquering_, and to conquer.

And when _she_ had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

And there went out another horse that was _red_: and power was given to _her_ that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto _her_ a _great sword_.

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a _black horse_; and he that sat on him had a _pair of balances in his hand_.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.

And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a _pale horse_: and his name that sat on him _was Death_, and _Hell followed with him_. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held:

And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?

And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellow servants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.

And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood;

And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind.

And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places.

And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains;

And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb:

For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?

**Revelations 6:3"**

"If I wanted a biblical lesson I would have gone to church instead of coming to this hole-in-the-ground fortuneteller shack."

Under the table, Madame Xanadu balled her fists as tight as she could make them, afraid if she didn't the gray-haired man across from her would receive a well-deserved slap to his pompous, weathered face. After having known him for years and working closely with him for the last twelve months, the arrogant bastard had accumulated quite a few slaps she had yet to deliver. Perhaps today he would finally reap his reward.

"I've heard it all before, and can spout the verses as well as you. But none of this has helped our cause."

"Your cause," was her soft contradiction.

"No," he grumbled, "our cause. You came to me, remember?"

That she had, because Madame Xanadu didn't know to who else to turn. She supposed she could have gone to the other two, but she doubted either would listen, no less do what needed doing. So she'd tracked down the only other in her vision capable of changing the course of events. But it had all been a waste of time, nothing they'd done over the last year had altered her vision enough to change the apocalypse to come.

"It's all been an exercise in futility. We can't win. They will come, and they will kill us all." With a trembling hand, she gestured to the tarot cards laid out before them. "It's all here. Nothing has changed. We've failed."

With rough, agitated movements, her guest pushed to his feet, the black of his suit identical to his mood.

"We haven't failed. Not yet."

"You've been to the other three worlds. You've tried, yet the visions remain the same. They come. We all die. End of story. End of days. For us all."

Slamming his hands on the table and sending cards flying, determined blue eyes glared at her. And there, in the body of the sixty-five year old was the stubborn crime fighter he used to be, staring down at her from a lofty perch that only the likes of Bruce Wayne could live upon.

She should have been intimidated, and at one time she would have been. But he no longer frightened her. Madame Xanadu would not be cowed by the god damn Batman.

"If we stop one, we stop them all."

She shook her head. "We don't know that for sure."

Still glaring, Bruce reclaimed his seat, but didn't argue the point. Even with his great mind, Bruce Wayne didn't know all, didn't fully comprehend the delicate and intricate nature of time, space, and parallel universes.

"Besides, time is running out, and I can't keep sending you back. Worse, every time you make the trip your body pays the price. I told you, the last time you went was truly your last time. If you go again, you'll die. Time and universe travel is not a perfect science, nor is it meant for old humans like the two of us."

"Speak for yourself, I'm not old," he responded, voice harsh, gruff, and utterly disagreeable.

Madame Xanadu did not like Bruce Wayne. She respected the man, but she most certainly did not like him.

Picking up the cards from the floor and the table, she placed them in a neat pile, tempted to deal them again, hoping, this once, the cards would reveal a different, better fate for them all. But she did nothing of the sort, knowing, in her heart, the results would be the same.

"You can't take the risk and go yourself. It's time you involved your friends."

"They aren't my friends. Not anymore, not since…"

Batman had given way to Bruce Wayne, the silence revealing more of his tattered heart than if he would've simply completed the sentence and confessed his sins. But, as he'd said, he hadn't gone to a church but a fortuneteller's "shack."

"Tell them what I've seen, what we've been doing this past year. Tell them. They will understand. After all, they know what they created, how dangerous he is."

Without a word, Bruce Wayne stood, looking very much the old man he claimed not to be—older.

Whatever had happened between Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman still weighed on the man walking out of her shop, umbrella up, rain pelting the citizens of Greenwich Village, shedding the tears that Bruce Wayne never would, no matter how much he needed to, wanted to.

Glancing down at the tarot cards, Madame Xanadu picked them up and began to shuffle. Minutes later, after she dealt the cards, all was as it had always been—_Conquest, War, Famine, and Death._

_These truly are the end of days. God save our souls, because the four will have no mercy on your bodies._

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This story is for Anthonior who requested a WW/SM time travel story. I normally don't do requests, but Anthonior has been such a great supporter of my writing that I seriously considered his request. But requests mean little if I can't come up with a story worth telling. Fortunately, I think I've come up with a pretty decent story idea. I haven't plotted out all the finer details, but the big ideas are there. The rest will come as I progress through the story. I'm still working on "Home is Where the Heart Is," so bear with me. I was going to wait to start this fic until after I finished "Home," but decided to get some of my ideas out of my head and onto the computer. So, here we are. Let's see what happens.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

**Earth-36 **

**2044**

**Gotham**

Bruce had the mother of all headaches, and no amount of aspirin could alleviate the consistent dull ache. It began the day Madame Xanadu had come to him, spouting nonsense about the "end of days" and "the four horsemen of the apocalypse." He had threatened to have security toss her out of his office when she'd refused to leave, but the longer she talked, forcing Bruce to listen to her lunacy, the more sense she began to make. Once done, Bruce Wayne had known the fortuneteller had spoken the truth.

Not only that, she'd voiced a fear he'd harbored for nearly three decades. But her visions of conquest, war, famine, and death was so much worse than the threat he knew would eventually destroy his own planet. So he did what any sane man of means would've done in his situation. He'd taken decisive action—time and time again.

_But the threat remains. I haven't done enough, not what should have been done years ago._

No he hadn't, although the desire to take that final act had been so strong. So strong in fact that he'd nearly done the unforgivable. And he would have, too, if Clark hadn't stopped him, finally ruining what remained of a dying friendship.

Propping two pillows behind him in his king-sized bed, Bruce reached for the remote control and turned on the television. Flipping channels, he stopped when he reached the cable news show, "Science of Today: Myths and Facts."

Knowing he wouldn't get much sleep tonight with the throbbing headache, Bruce decided to watch the show, hoping the normal string of so-called experts would do the trick and put him out of his misery, their idiocy lulling him into a coma-like sleep.

And the first idiot was introduced with all the pomp and circumstance of a circus freak. Some Ph.D. from Harvard with a shiny baldhead, glasses too small for his pudgy face, and a voice as dull as the plain brown suit he wore.

"The multiverse concept," the Harvard professor began, "is founded upon the idea that what we have hitherto considered to be "the universe" is but a small component of a vast assemblage of universes. According to the multiverse thesis, each universe may differ with regards to their physical laws, in such a way that all conceivable constants and laws are represented in a universe somewhere.

The hypothesis is intimately associated with the so-called Anthropic Principle, which states that our own existence acts as a selection principle determining which properties of the universe we can observe. That is to say, any observed properties of the universe which may at first seem to be astonishingly improbable can only be seen in their true perspective after we realize that other properties couldn't be observed by us, since we can only observe properties of the universe which are conducive to our own existence. The Anthropic Principle is thus used by many people, often in conjunction with the Multiverse principle, to show why we shouldn't be surprised at the astonishingly improbable fine-tuning of the universe for intelligent life."

The professor, Dr. Norman Brigam, spoke as if he were delivering a lesson to a class of freshman who actually gave a damn about his opinion. If the good doctor had been the only guest on the show, Bruce would've moved on until he found something else to watch. But the topic was strangely relevant to his current predicament and the second guest was a man he knew, liked, and respected.

"What is your perspective on the concept of a multiverse, Dr. Stone?" the host asked.

Bruce sat up straighter in bed, curious about Victor's opinion, although he was sure he knew. While the League had disbanded years ago and Vic no longer went by the name "Cyborg," Bruce made it his business to keep abreast of the goings-on of his former teammates. And Dr. Victor Stone had made quite a name for himself since leaving the League and joining forces with his father.

"Well," Vic began, "the multiverse is a theory in which our universe is not the only one, but states that many universes exist parallel to each other. These distinct universes within the multiverse theory are called _parallel universes._ A variety of different theories lend themselves to a multiverse viewpoint. Not all physicists really believe that these universes exist. Even fewer believe that it would ever be possible to contact these parallel universes."

Bruce knew it was not only possible to contact the parallel universes but to travel there, both of which were damn difficult and took an unimaginable toll.

Before Vic could continue, Dr. Brigam snorted his disagreement, staring at Vic over his glasses in disapproval, if not outright challenge.

"The multiverse explanation is highly problematic, Dr. Stone, as you should well know. Perhaps the biggest difficulty is that the existence of such parallel universes can be neither verified nor falsified. The model is thus ad hoc and contrived. Second, given that the biofriendliness of the universe is in no way conducive to cosmic sustainability, no form of selection process or 'cosmic evolution' can be invoked. Third, if the multiverse thesis is to commend itself as a plausible hypothesis, then a mechanism for generating such universes needs to be advanced. The concept of a 'bubble' of universes, each with their own fundamental constants and values, only throws the paradox back one step - as one could easily ask who built the generator to give rise to this cosmic lottery."

Victor patiently waited for the windbag to finish, giving the professor far more respect than he deserved. But Victor Stone had always been a tolerant and dignified man, even in his youth. Now, as a man in his early fifties, Vic was the epitome of refinement, intelligence, and class.

He spoke when Dr. Brigam made his concluding remark, as if he'd successfully solved something as simple as a quadratic equation.

"There are four levels, if you will, to the multiverse. The idea of level one parallel universes basically says that space is so big that the rules of probability imply that surely, somewhere else out there, are other planets exactly like Earth. In fact, an infinite universe would have infinitely many planets, and on some of them, the events that play out would be virtually identical to those on our own Earth. We don't see these other universes because our cosmic vision is limited by the speed of light — the ultimate speed limit. Light started traveling at the moment of the big bang, about 14 billion years ago, and so we can't see any further than about 14 billion light-years. This volume of space is called the _Hubble volume_ and represents our observable universe. The existence of level one parallel universes depends on two assumptions: the universe is infinite, or virtually so, and within an infinite universe, every single possible configuration of particles in a Hubble volume takes place multiple times."

"Good theory, my friend," Bruce said to the television, Alfred long since dead to worry about Bruce speaking to himself. "Let's see what else you got up your sleeve for Mr. Brigam."

"I don't think so, Dr. Stone. Science is founded on the notion of the rationality and uniformity of nature. The universe is ordered in a rational way, and scientists seek reasons for why things are the way they are. If the universe as a whole is without transcendency or purpose, then it exists without reason. It is therefore ultimately arbitrary and absurd. We are subsequently invited to contemplate a state of affairs in which all scientific chains of reasoning are ultimately grounded in absurdity. The concept of a cosmic order would then have no foundation. Thus, the multiverse theory undercuts the very premise upon which the scientific method is founded."

"In a level two," Vic continued, ignoring the professor's interruption, his focus on the host instead of the flustered Brigam who clearly did not appreciate the subtly effective snub, "parallel universe, regions of space are continuing to undergo an inflation phase. Because of the continuing inflationary phase in these universes, space between us and the other universes is literally expanding faster than the speed of light — and they are, therefore, completely unreachable."

"That's fascinating, Dr. Stone. I'm sure my viewers would love to hear about the other two levels. Please enlighten us all."

"Yes, Dr. Stone, please do enlighten the flock," was Dr. Brigam's sarcastic retort.

Again, Vic ignored the man.

"A level three parallel universe is a consequence of the many worlds interpretation from quantum physics in which every single quantum possibility inherent in the quantum wavefunction becomes a real possibility in some reality. When the average person thinks of a 'parallel universe,' they're probably thinking of level three parallel universes.

Level three parallel universes are different from the others posed because they take place in the same space and time as our own universe, but you still have no way to access them. You have never had and will never have contact with any level one or level two universe, but you're continually in contact with level three universes — every moment of your life, every decision you make, is causing a split of your 'now' self into an infinite number of future selves, all of which are unaware of each other.

Though we talk of the universe 'splitting,' this isn't precisely true. From a mathematical standpoint, there's only one wave function, and it evolves over time. The _superpositions_ of different universes all coexist simultaneously in the same infinite-dimensional Hilbert space. These separate, coexisting universes interfere with each other, yielding the bizarre quantum behaviors. Of the four types of universes, level three parallel universes have the least to do with string theory directly."

Bruce had considered most of what Vic had just said, some of which, from his experience, he knew to be true, other parts of Vic's theory was plain false. If proper steps were taken, future selves could be made aware of the action of their past selves.

"That simply is not true, Dr. Stone. As a scientist you should know better than to argue such notions without scientific facts to support your contentions. Without a scientifically rigorous means by which such a multiverse concept can be tested, verified and falsified, the idea remains as but a conjecture - a fudge factor invoked merely to evade the apparent design of our cosmos. In addition, the idea suffers from a number of scientific difficulties and problems."

"Such as?" the host asked.

"Whereas one knows that one universe exists, one does not - nor can - know whether more than one universe exists. Once observers exist in universe A, the theory of general relativity indicates that the space-time envelope of that universe can never overlap the space-time envelope of any other possibly existing universe. In other words, even if God made ten universes, we would forever lack the scientific means to detect any universe besides our own. The sample size of universes therefore is limited to one. Thus, the only rational option is that there exists only one universe and that God exquisitely designed the universe for the benefit of mankind."

"So," Victor said, turning to face his colleague in science, "once you pull back the layers of your so-called scientific argument, it simply boils down to a religious debate. And while I may believe in the existence of God, Dr. Brigam, my belief is one of faith, which doesn't preclude me from also acknowledging the existence of parallel universes, or even the existence of other gods."

The good professor shot boulder-size daggers at Vic. But Vic had faced-down Darkseid and parademons and survived, a narrow-minded bookworm like Brigam meant nothing to him. Besides, Victor was friends with a demigoddess, he knew very well that gods existed in many forms and in many faiths.

"As I was saying, there are four levels of universes. A level four parallel universe is the strangest place and most controversial prediction of all, because it would follow fundamentally different mathematical laws of nature than our universe. In short, any universe that physicists can get to work out on paper would exist, based on the _mathematical democracy principle:_ Any universe that is mathematically possible has equal possibility of actually existing."

"So what you are saying, Dr. Stone," the host said, clearly intrigued by the topic of his show, "is that we are not alone in the universe, that there may be multiple Victor Stones or Norman Brigams on other Earths?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. But there are so many questions I have yet to find answers for. I'm not arguing that a parallel universe is the same as a mirror universe, just that there is an inordinate amount of similarities."

That point Bruce could agree with one-hundred percent—similar but not identical.

Feeling exhausted and like he could sleep for a week, Bruce clicked off the television, unwilling to listen to whatever else Dr. Brigam had to say. Come tomorrow, Bruce would have a critical decision to make, but first he would contact Vic and have a nice chat with him about multiverses. Then he would skip his doctor's appointment. No need spending an hour in the doctor's office to only have the woman tell Bruce what he already knew.

_I'm dying. Old news._

No, Bruce would avoid that appointment. Instead, he would make two phone calls. They may have cut him out of their lives, but Clark and Diana were still his friends. And it was past time for them to deal with the situation head-on.

Giving a verbal command, the lights dimmed, shrouding his room in familiar, cozy darkness. Bruce huddled under the covers and closed his eyes, the headache ebbing as he entered the dream state. When he dreamed, it was one of three dreams he'd had since making that first fateful trip, crossing time and space, interfering with the nature and order of the multiverse, witnessing the event that would doom them all.

But it wasn't truly his dream. It was theirs, Bruce a voyeur of a weak, selfish moment that would forever change the fate of his friends and the multiverse.

* * *

**Earth-36 **

**2014**

The battle with Doomsday had tested Superman, fighting the creature all over the world, even into outer space. He'd thought about all the promises he'd made—to protect the people of Earth, to protect the good citizens of Smallville. Then there was Diana, Lois, and Lana, three women who meant the world to Clark. He couldn't let them down, he wouldn't let them down.

So he'd fought. With all he had, Superman had fought the monster, doing the unthinkable when he killed him. But it had to be done. Imprisonment was no longer an option. Doomsday had proven that even the Phantom Zone could not contain him. Rehabilitation and rational discussions were also not options, for Doomsday was a creature meant to do one thing—kill.

No, Superman had made the only decision left to him. Doomsday had to be stopped, and Superman had stopped him.

But he'd also inhaled destroyed remnants of the beast, a toxin to humans if left in the air for the wind to disperse wide and far.

Yet it had done something to Clark, or he thought perhaps it had. His head was foggy, his heart raced too fast, and the violent visions wouldn't cease.

* * *

**Earth-16 **

**2014**

"Open up," Superman yelled, banging on the Fortress door to admit its owner.

"Voice print positive," the AI said. "DNA analysis negative."

_So angry my skin feels like it's burning. And then I see why._

Exoskeleton had pushed its way through his skin, giving his fist a menacing edge that would brutalize even the fiercest of enemies.

_I should be terrified. I should be running to my friends for help. _

But he didn't. He flew away from the Fortress and the snarling, red-eyed Krypto who sensed the wrongness in his master.

He flew.

And flew.

And flew, telling himself that what he knew to be true wasn't really happening to him.

He told himself this lie, willing it to be true, needing it to be true. This was just a bad reaction to consuming Doomsday's particles. It would soon past. It had to past. Clark would be all right. This time tomorrow, the illness would have run its course. Surely it would have. Superman was no danger to the world. He had stopped the danger, killed the monster that threatened them all.

As time zones changed and day morphed into night, Clark found himself the last place he should be. But he couldn't help himself. When it came to her, he could never help himself.

* * *

**Earth-44 **

**2014**

Diana wondered how long Clark intended to hover outside her bedroom window. She'd been asleep but was awakened by a sonic boom. That had been thirty minutes ago. Thirty minutes of him doing an aerial version of pacing.

From her bed, Diana could make out the agitation wafting off him. The same irritation and anger she'd sensed after the League had found him after his battle with Doomsday. Superman hadn't been himself, looking as if he wanted to kill Luthor with his bare hands, not that Diana could blame Clark. Luthor was not a man to be trusted, so Diana had sent Clark away.

So she was surprised to see him in London so soon after his ordeal. She'd assumed he would take a couple of days to himself at the Fortress before venturing out again. Still, she was pleased to see him, but also full of concern. He wasn't acting like the Clark she knew.

And he looked so very lost out there, clearly undecided whether he should have come to her, which made little sense to Diana.

Knowing he needed time to come to terms with whatever was going on inside his head, Diana made no move to get out of bed, or to even let him know she was awake and aware of his presence.

He would come in, or he would go home. The choice was his to make, either way Diana was there for him.

She closed her eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep. Diana had no idea how long she'd slept before she felt a warm, nude body spooned against her—manhood thick and hard.

* * *

**Earth Prime**

**2014**

He shouldn't be there, Clark thought, slipping into bed behind Diana. He really shouldn't be there. Clark should've gone home to Metropolis. He should've taken some time to figure out what was going on with him. But his flight had taken him to her door. And now he was in her room, her bed—naked and uninvited.

He reached for Diana, a trembling hand to her smooth, soft hip. A bare hip. The woman slept in the nude. Clark knew that, but the reminder nearly brought a growl of beastly possession to his lips.

_She's mine._

And he was hers. That's what she had told Zod and Faora when they had attacked him.

Clark needed Diana now, the same way he needed her then. Not to help him win a battle, but to help remind him of the man he felt slipping away from him, which, in a sense, was a different type of battle.

"You're always welcome here, Clark," her sexy cultured voice came in the darkness.

"There's no other place I would rather be." The hand stroking her hip glided to her stomach, then up to a breast, finding and playing with a nipple.

"We don't have to…we can just hold each other and sleep. We don't have to make—"

Flicks to her taut nipple had Diana moaning, unable to finish her thought.

No, they didn't have to make love. But Clark needed to make love to Diana. He needed to feel normal, like a man instead of a beast. He needed her arms and legs around him, telling him all would be fine. He needed to be inside her wet, warm body, feeling her pulse around him as he drove feverishly into her. He needed to come hard and repeatedly, drowning out the other voice in his damn head, mocking him that the battle was not yet won.

"I need you," was Clark's whispered confession. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be touching you like this, shouldn't be thinking more of my needs than your own. But I am here, and I don't want to leave, which makes me one selfish bastard."

Rolling onto her back, Diana stared up at him, a hand going to a cheek and running from eyebrow to chin and back again.

He wished she would say the words he longed to hear, the words he'd been waiting months for her to say back to him.

_Just say it, Diana. This once, please tell me you love me as much as I love you._

But she said nothing, just continued to stare up at him, caressing his face with tenderness and trust that stirred something deep in his soul. In that moment, it was just Clark and Diana—a man and a woman.

A man who was achingly hard for his goddess.

He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing, nipping, and licking. "Let me make love to you, Diana."

She should have rejected him, should have thrown Clark out on his ear. But Diana did neither. Instead, she pulled him on top of her and permitted Clark into her heavenly body, her female heat.

When it was over, when Clark had sated the man and the beast, he waited for Diana to fall asleep, rose from the bed, dressed, and then stared down at the woman he loved. Writing her a brief note before he left, Clark kissed Diana's cheek, careful not to wake her.

During the flight home, Clark had the same recurring thought. _I should have stayed away._ _Dammit, I should have stayed far away from Diana. _

But it wasn't too late to make it right. It wasn't too late to protect her from what he was becoming.

When Clark got home, he waited a few hours and called Diana, leaving a voice mail on her cell phone at a time when he knew she would be unavailable to answer her phone.

"Hey, gorgeous. I might be away for a while. Don't come looking. I just…I need some time."

As excuses went, the voice mail had been a pretty lame one. Worse, it would only stave off the inevitable for a few days. Eventually, Diana would come looking for him. And Clark had no doubt his Wonder Woman would find him. Unfortunately, she wouldn't find him alone, or as he should be.

He'd made a huge mistake the night before, and so had Diana.

Four Dianas.

Four Clarks.

One mistake.

Times four.

Conquest.

War.

Famine.

Death.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**Earth-36**

**2044**

**Gotham Cemetery**

From a height no human eye could see, Kal watched as Bruce Wayne paid respect to his parents. Dressed in a black overcoat and black suit, Bruce had come prepared, his hands full of red-and-white roses. With care, he placed a dozen roses in front of each massive headstone. Then his head lowered for several minutes, in what Kal knew was a silent prayer meant only for Martha and Thomas Wayne.

In this one respect, Kal and Bruce Wayne were of a similar mind. They both had loved and lost parents. In Kal's case, both his biological and adoptive parents had been lost to him. And while he had no true memories of Lara and Jor, that fact did nothing to lessen the hole in his heart he felt for them. No more than losing Martha and Jonathan Kent when he was an adult instead of a child, as Bruce had been when his parents were murdered, lessened the sadness and grief that plagued his heart still. He could sense the same sadness and grief in Bruce, the solitary figure in the closed cemetery.

A part of Kal missed the friendship and trust he and Bruce once shared. There had been a time when Kal would have done anything for Bruce, for Batman. Even now, after Bruce's final and ultimate betrayal, Kal would stand between Bruce and any enemy who dared to hurt the old man he had grown into.

But Kal had also grown, and he now knew how very little he could trust the man praying at his parents' gravesite. Bruce rarely lied outright, but the man lived for his secrets. _And one day his secrets will kill him._

Kal often thought Bruce was too damn intelligent for his own good, always viewing himself as the master thinker, master strategist, unconsciously, then eventually consciously, manipulating family and friends to do and see things his way. And Kal wondered when Bruce had begun to believe his own bullshit or if he had always been a controlling bastard and Kal simply too naïve to notice.

Yet sorrow filled Kal's heart when he looked upon Bruce. The years had taken a toll on Gotham's self-proclaimed protector, and they hadn't been kind ones. His hair was nearly all-white, his frame still broad and large, but no longer sturdy, no longer intimidating, no longer full of vigor and strength. But the strength of character no cowl or business suit could ever do justice remained.

That much was obvious, for Bruce Wayne, for whatever reason, was bound and determined to meet with Kal. He'd called, texted, and emailed him for the last two months, Kal ignoring each and every olive branch. He had nothing to say to the man. After all, he was largely to blame for the gulf that existed between Kal and Diana.

And she was the only reason Kal had agreed to this meeting. It had been ten long years since he'd last seen her. And Bruce had promised Kal that if he attended he could guarantee Diana's presence. The practical, wise side of Kal had scoffed at yet another of Bruce's emotional manipulations, but the other side, the lonely, wistful side had caved, as Bruce clearly knew he would.

But Kal neither heard nor saw the one woman who had stolen his soul and broken his heart. Another one of Bruce's lies, Kal thought, anger and disappointment a dangerous mix boiling within the Kryptonian.

"She'll be here."

Ah, Kal should have known. Despite the white hair, slower movements, and weight loss, Bruce Wayne was still the Batman.

"How long do you plan on hovering up there, glaring down at me as if we hadn't once fought side-by-side, teammates as well as best friends?"

Yes, definitely still Batman.

Taking his sweet time, Kal descended, careful to moderate his speed and wind gusts as to not displace the Wayne's flowers.

"You said Diana would be here."

"Hello to you, too, Kal."

"I came only for her, Bruce, so don't play games with me. Will she be here or not?"

With a sigh that bespoke of old age, impatience, and frustration, Bruce gave Kal a put-upon expression.

"I'm a man of my word. Diana will be here."

Bruce was a man of his word, if and when he spoke the entire truth, which was rarely.

"What's wrong with you?" Kal asked, scanning Bruce with his x-ray vision.

"That's impolite. I've asked you before to not invade my privacy like that."

"Yes, well, I remember asking you to stay out of my love life." Kal stared at Bruce. "It seems neither one of us knows how to listen to the other. Anyway, why are most of your organs shot to hell?"

Bruce snorted. "It's called getting old, Kal, not everyone is a Kryptonian with slow aging cells."

A truth and a lie mixed together in a neat diversionary tactic he knew all too well. But Bruce was right, he had invaded his privacy. His medical condition was his own, although the deterioration of Bruce's organs was neither natural nor due to simple aging. Kal had no idea of the cause, but he did know Bruce had no intention of telling him, so Kal let it drop.

"So, where is Diana?"

"I don't know. I thought she would've been here by now."

He looked Kal up and down. "Not Superman today?"

No, he'd deliberately left the Fortress in civilian clothes—jeans and a sweater. When he saw Diana again, he wanted to remind her of the man he was, the man she'd fallen in love with and not the Superman who'd pledged to protect the Earth, even from his own…

A lavender-scented breeze ruffled his hair, and Kal's heart kicked up a beat.

She was there. Diana had finally arrived.

Unable to help himself, Kal bolted into the sky, leaving a wind-tossed and open-mouthed Bruce in his wake.

A vision in red silk drifted downward, her long dress flowing to bare feet, the delicate fabric doing wonderful things to her voluptuous breasts and curvy hips.

_Diana is as lovely as ever. And I've missed her. So. Damn. Much._

Yet when their eyes met, they were as cold and distant as he'd ever seen them. Diana still hated him. He'd feared a decade wouldn't be enough to soften her heart toward him. And, apparently, he'd been right, which meant Diana had come here for a reason other than a chance to see him.

The realization stung, but it did not surprise him. If he wanted to regain her trust and love, he would have to fight for her. _The way I should've a long time ago. But I wasn't entirely wrong. When will she admit that? When will she see him the way I do, the way that he truly is?_

"You came."

"Obviously." Diana glanced down to where Bruce stood, eyes lifted to the sky and squinting. "He can't see us. I have no idea what he's doing."

"He's being Batman."

"Yes, well, I suppose he is."

"So, umm, how did he convince you to come here and meet with us?"

For a second, Diana's eyes morphed from aqua marine to lightning white. "The foolish man has spent the last seven weeks desecrating ancient Greek temples—the Valley of the Temples, the Parthenon, Paestum, Asklepieion, the Temple of Poseidon, the Temple of Olympian Zeus."

Kal winced at the last one. Diana's father must be on a warpath, wanting blood—Bruce's blood.

"He did all of that?"

"For starters." Diana frowned. "If I hadn't come, Father would've cast his bolts upon Bruce, and I care too much for the innocent people of Gotham to allow them to suffer for Bruce's stupidity and my father's exaggerated sense of revenge."

The King of Olympus didn't do anything by half-measures. This Kal knew from personal experience.

"It matters not, Kal. I'm here, and I will listen to whatever Bruce has to say."

He wished she would go back to calling him Clark, the way she once did. But those uncomplicated, early days of their relationship were but haunting memories. Clark Kent no longer existed. Now, there was only Superman, only Kal-El.

"Then you'll leave?" Dammit, Kal was hoping she would stay long enough for them to talk, to maybe clear the air and begin anew.

"Of course. There is no reason for me to stay longer than the duration of this meeting. Besides, Father doesn't trust Bruce."

"Or me."

Diana considered Kal before saying, "He's been given good reason not to…and so have I."

And there it was, the first thorn of many that riddled the landscape between his heart and hers.

"I'm sorry."

"So you've said before. I know you're sorry, Kal, but it changes nothing. It means nothing. And neither do you, not anymore."

That hurt. Shit, that really hurt, and Kal knew Diana had chosen her words for maximum emotional damage. Sometimes, like now, Diana could be as brutal and unfeeling as her father and brothers, all of whom protected Diana as if she were a fragile petal. They were delusional, choosing to still view her as the daring girl in ponytails she'd once been instead of the mature woman she actually was. But, Kal had to admit, compared to the thousands of years her father and brothers had lived, Diana, at fifty-four, was but a babe to them. A babe an "alien" had taken as a lover and gotten with child at the age of twenty-four.

Since she had thrown the first blow, Kal asked the question foremost in his mind. "How is he? How is our son?"

And the frost was back, as were the white eyes—an inheritance from her father and a warning to the Kryptonian to tread carefully.

"I may mean nothing to you, Diana, but my son means everything to me." So did she, but he wouldn't reward her with that knowledge, not after what she'd said about him. "I haven't seen him in ten years. I would like to see him. He'll be thirty in a month. I'd like to wish him a happy birthday."

Sparks of lightning skidded at the corners of Diana's eyes, and her body began to glow with a white luminescence. She wasn't in full god mode, not yet. But if he continued, if he pushed, she would explode with white-hot fury, her rage aimed at him.

And Kal wanted that. He wanted to evoke an emotion from Diana other than cool aloofness. Years ago she burned for him, not from rage but from passion. Yet rage and passion were merely different sides of the same coin.

Kal thought about kissing her, thought about pulling the furious Olympian to him and burying his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her wildly blowing hair. And damn the consequences.

Instead, he said, "We were once a family. But the happiness we had could never last. He should have never been, Diana. Rao help me, our son should have never been born."

And that was the hard to accept truth—for them both. Because, yes, for a while, Kal had convinced himself that their son was normal, as normal as any child could be with a Kryptonian as a father and a demigoddess as a mother. But the signs were there early on, the child's sapphire eyes and angelic face doing much to conceal the evil within.

"Say his name, Kal. Can you no longer speak his name, the son you proclaim to love?"

Diana was calmer now, but no less furious for the controlled tempest that was her birthright.

Clark flew closer to Diana, invading her space with his massive body. But, as he knew she would, the woman did not falter, holding her ground with bold stubbornness. For as long as he'd known Diana, her rational, strategic mind had been her greatest strengths. Except when it came to…

"Athos Kal-El, son of Kal-El of Krypton and Diana of Mount Olympus. His name means 'immortal,' and we selected that name three decades ago, while I held you in my arms after we'd made love, when we were young, naïve, and unware of the blight we would soon unleash onto the world."

"He's not a monster, Kal, he's our son, our only child."

Sadness echoed each one of Diana's words, as did an exhaustion Kal recognized as a mother's bone-deep pain. He wished he could erase the scar tissue around her heart, keeping Athos in and Kal out.

"Athos is our son, true, but he is no longer a child. But I do want to see him, Diana."

The temptation to reach up and wrap one of those luscious strands of black hair around his fingers had Kal balling his hands, so strong was the urge to touch the woman before him.

"Will you take me to him? Will you take me to see my son?"

He couldn't reach Olympus on his own, only a god or one of Zeus' chosen were ever granted that rare privilege. At one time, Diana had ceased living there, choosing to reside among mortals, joining the Justice League and adopting the moniker of Wonder Woman. Yet Kal's actions of ten years ago had resulted in Diana leaving him and returning home to her family of gods.

"I will take your request under consideration. But, for now, let us hear what Bruce has to say."

Kal had forgotten all about Bruce. He glanced down at the man, who, to his surprise, was still looking upward.

"He must have a crook in his neck by now."

"Doubtful," Diana said, beginning her descent, "but he is quite the pain in the ass, and if he mentions our son I might have to kill him."

* * *

So far, so good, Bruce thought. Diana and Kal had come and they'd even talked before landing next to Bruce. Bruce wasn't into self-delusion, however. He knew the pair was far from reconciling, no matter that they were perfect for each other. That was a truth he'd come to terms with decades ago. But only within the last ten years had Bruce arrived at another truth. This one, however, if he were correct in his assessment, would either make or break his plan.

For years, Bruce had viewed Diana as the wild card of the League. The demigoddess had no obvious weakness, no Achilles heel to be exploited and taken advantage of if she ever went rogue and became a threat to innocents. For Kal, kryptonite was his one, true weakness, as well as his huge, sentimental heart. Clark Kent, as he used to go by, was a boy scout, always doing the right thing, always willing to help. He wore his heart on his sleeve, which made him vulnerable, easy to read, and not always the most practical person.

But it was Diana, daughter of Zeus and the Amazon queen, who was more pragmatic of the two, her decisions less emotional and more logical than Kal's. Yet all of that had changed with the birth of her demon spawn—Athos. For him, Diana would move mountains, her love for her son unconditional, blind, and utterly, utterly foolish.

Kal, however, didn't share Diana's faith in their son. Oh, Bruce knew Kal had once been of the same mind as Diana. But time and circumstances had forced the Man of Steel to finally see Athos for who and what he truly was—an irredeemable monster. And where Diana would do anything to save her son from death and eternal damnation, Kal would do anything for his wife—a woman who'd chosen her son over her husband.

All of which, if Diana and Kal stayed true to form, would work out perfectly for his plan, which also meant, by the end of it all, they would despise him. The thought of having his friends hate him almost had Bruce calling off today's meeting. He once valued their friendship, their easy camaraderie. Despite his misgivings early-on in Diana's pregnancy, they'd made him godfather to their son. For a while, when Athos was but a child, Bruce had thought all his fears and worrying had been for nothing. But when the boy turned eight things began to change. And so began the beginning of the end of Bruce's friendship with Diana and Kal.

"Okay, Bruce, we're here. What is this all about?"

_And so it begins, Kal._

Not surprisingly, Diana paid her respects to Bruce's parents before she acknowledged him. Placing a hand on each of their headstones, Diana lowered her head and began a soft prayer, one he'd heard her recite countless times. He knew, even after the dissolution of their friendship, that Diana continued to visit the gravesite of his parents. And that was what Bruce had come to understand and respect about Diana that he hadn't when he'd met her when she was a brash sword-wielding girl of eighteen. Diana's heart was as large and as complex as the multiverse itself. And Bruce, forgive his calculating soul, was about to exploit that precious part of her.

When she finally lifted her head and turned to face Bruce and Kal, Diana's eyes took in his aged and stressed appearance. And while she didn't possess the ability to see inside his body the way that Kal could, Bruce had no doubt Diana had come to the same conclusion as her husband. The difference, one of many between Diana and Kal, was that Diana was far too polite to comment on Bruce's physical condition.

"Hello, Bruce," she said simply, nodding her head in a cool regal gesture, befitting her station as a Princess of Olympus and Queen of the Amazons. Or rather, queen of what was left of the Amazon nation.

"Hello, Diana. It's good to see you again." A truth she would never know how deeply he felt.

"The next time you wish to garner my attention, please leave an appropriate offering at one of Zeus' temples. Father will tolerate no more destruction of ancient Greek architecture at your hands."

Yes, well, Bruce had no intention of further enflaming the wrath of the king of the gods. Besides, his plan had yielded the fruit he'd wanted. Diana was here. Not happy about it, but here all the same.

With a cane he wished was only for show, Bruce began to walk, leading the couple away from the gravesites and to a bench at the end of the path. Kal and Diana may look and feel like thirty-year olds, but Bruce needed to sit down. The last thing he wanted to do was begin his normal bronchial coughing, especially when it would be blood that he would expel instead of phlegm. He didn't want them knowing that much about his medical condition, giving him pitying looks and useless medical advice.

Bruce sat, cane between his legs, hands on the gold-and-onyx handle.

Kal and Diana remained standing. Unsurprisingly, they didn't stand next to each other—Diana, red elegance, and Kal casual in blue jeans.

"Let me get to the point, now that I have you both here."

Diana wandered over to the bench on the other side of the path and sat, crossing long legs, feet bare, toes polished crimson.

Kal, the besotted fool that he was, stared with longing at his wife, the desire to follow her clear in his adoring eyes. But Kal didn't move, choosing pride over desperation.

Bruce had their attention. Now, he only had to reel them in.

"I've spent a lot of time and money researching the multiverse theory."

"Vic's theory?" Kal questioned.

"Well, his version of the theory, most of which I think is brilliant work."

Unlike Dr. Brigam, who confused religious dogma with scientific theory and research, Diana and Kal comprehended the complex dynamics of the universe. Bruce wouldn't have to waste his time trying to convince them of the truth and existence of a multiverse. No, he would have to convince them the truth of a series of lies.

"As you know, Vic's position is that there are parallel universes."

"Level three," Diana added. "I read his dissertation. It made a lot of sense, particularly considering all we've seen and done when we were on the League, fighting villains from different worlds. But what does Vic's theory have to do with why you asked us here today?"

This wasn't the Diana Bruce needed right now, not the analytical demigoddess with a shrewd mind and sharp sword.

"I think I've found the solution to Athos' condition."

Diana stood. The sliver of patience she'd shown him gone with the mentioning of her son.

"I told you to never speak his name. You have no right, not after what you tried to do to him."

Diana stepped forward, the slightest embers of white beginning to overtake her irises.

Now this was the Diana Bruce wanted, needed. Well, not the angry demigoddess contemplating his death, but the protective, loving mother who would do anything to help her son.

The problem was that Athos could not be helped. He was as he was. But Diana, bless her tender heart, refused to believe that she had birthed and raised a monster. To her way of thinking, Athos hadn't been conceived under the best circumstances, which resulted in his so-called illness.

Bruce held up a halting hand, realizing Kal had no intention of coming to his defense.

"It's all in the bone marrow, Diana. At least, that's my working theory."

"We've tried that already, Bruce." Kal walked around the bench and stepped slightly between Diana and Bruce. "When Athos was eleven, we allowed you to give him a bone marrow transplant, then again when he was thirteen."

That was back when they were friends and Diana and Kal had trusted him with their son. Those days, sadly, were long gone.

"I know, and neither of you were a perfect match. But I believe I may have found new donors."

"New donors?" Diana asked, voice and eyes skeptical. And then she laughed, humorless and cynical. "And this is where Vic's multiverse theory comes into play."

"Yes. There is another Diana and Clark Kent, another Earth. I've been there once, seen them for myself. They are—"

"Not us," snarled Diana. "Similar universes, Bruce, not mirror universe. That's what Vic's theory is all about."

"Yes and no. True, parallel is not the same as mirror, but he also argued that, when all is said and done, there is truly only one of us, physically divided into multiple realities. Different enough, I suppose, but also very much the same."

"Enough similarity to be better donor matches for Athos than his own parents? You're reaching, Bruce, which isn't like you at all."

He was reaching, into his magician's hat to pull out a white rabbit, a trick to wow and confuse the crowd.

"I know I am. But, as you both can see, I'm dying. I don't want to die with this rift between us. I know it's my fault, that I betrayed your trust."

That was an easy enough confession to make, because Bruce felt it keenly. Unfortunately, the rift between them would remain. When he died, he would be alone and friendless, Selina already preceding him in death, a drunk driver having taken her from him three years ago. Kal and Diana attended Selina's funeral. After they learned the truth of his plan, he knew they wouldn't attend his.

_So be it. This is for the greater good, for all of mankind._

Reclaiming her seat on the opposite bench, Diana considered Bruce with a mix of doubt and hope. Kal, for his part, just glared down at Bruce, annoyance and distrust palpable.

"You're doing it again, Bruce."

"Doing what?"

"Playing on Diana's emotions with another one of your schemes. Athos cannot be cured because he is not sick. If he were, I would travel to that other universe and drag whoever I needed to back here so they could save my son. I won't permit you to get Diana's hopes up again only to have them dashed when this little plan of yours blows up in her face. Whatever you want, you can count her out."

And that was the Kal Bruce knew would rise to the fore—protective and loving with just the right amount of overbearing machismo a woman like Diana detested.

"You have no role or say-so in what I choose to do, Kal."

"We may no longer live under the same roof, Diana, but you're still my damn wife. And this little deathbed scheme of Bruce's," he said, having turned his back on Bruce to face his furious wife, "is designed with you in mind. He's trying to manipulate you. I don't know why, but I know that's what he's doing, and I won't stand for it."

"You must think me truly a blind fool. I know Bruce has ulterior motives. He has always had ulterior motives. But Bruce has never been intentionally cruel."

"No, not cruel, but he's not being completely honest with us. Can you not see that?"

Diana glanced around Kal's burly body and to Bruce, who sat there appearing as innocent as possible. Of course, Diana and Kal knew him far too well to believe that.

"You want me to travel to this other universe and convince Clark and Diana to return to this universe?"

He nodded.

"Do you think there is a chance they will be a match, that the other Clark and Diana can help my son?"

No he didn't. As Clark had said, Athos wasn't sick. Well, Athos was a sick bastard, just not in the medical sense as his mother liked to believe.

Years of honing his skills as Batman had not left him with age. So when he nodded in the affirmative, nothing in his physiology "outed" him as the big, fat liar that he was. Anything other than controlled certainty would've been detected by Kal.

Knowing this, Diana asked, "Is he telling the truth, Kal?"

"Probably not, but I can detect nothing in his body to say otherwise."

That seemed to put her at ease, which, in turn, did the same for Bruce. This farce was almost done. The only thing that was left was the details Diana and Kal would push for, which meant more fancy lying, and the marital dispute that always centered on their son.

They walked away from Bruce, and then lifted into the air for maximum privacy. Twenty minutes later they returned, neither looking particularly pleased with Bruce or each other.

"I agreed to watch over Athos while Diana is away."

Bruce had figured as much. Although they were separated, irreconcilable differences in the form of Athos Kal-El, Diana only trusted Kal with the safety of their demon offspring. Once the young man was dead and a threat to no one, Bruce had every confidence his friends would one day find their way back to each other. A love like theirs did not fade with time or with adversity, it only got stronger. The fact that neither of them had taken action, this past decade, to officially end their marriage, was testament to their continued love and fidelity.

And when Diana found her place once more on the bench across from him, it was to have Kal at her side, his body language possessive and displeased.

That was fine. Things were as they should be, having played out precisely how Bruce knew they would.

He loved his friends.

But their son would have to die—once and for all.

And he needed Earth Prime's Superman and Wonder Woman to do it—to save them all.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

**Earth-44**

**2014**

**London**

"I don't like the way you keep looking at me." Hessia's cautious brown eyes tracked Diana's every movement. "You're smiling, and you never smile when we spar."

"Well, we haven't spared in six weeks. Perhaps I'm simply happy for the workout I know I'll get. You are, after all, a worthy opponent, _sister_."

Diana had snarled the word "sister," a moment before she swept Hessia's legs out from under her. The older woman quick, but not swift enough to avoid the unexpected attack.

_Thud._

Hessia broke the fall with her arms, slamming them outward and onto the mat, while tucking her chin downward, preventing her head from taking the unwanted blow to the ground, the mat meager protection. Then she was back on her feet, first crouching in a defensive position, unsure whether Diana would attack before she stood.

Diana didn't. She permitted Hessia to get completely to her feet.

Then she attacked again.

Kick. Kick. Punch.

Duck. Kick. Kick.

Jump. Spin. Punch. Punch.

Kick. Kick. Backward Flip.

Hessia blocked, dodged, and countered, the way any good Amazon would, even when facing a superior opponent.

"Got a little anger to burn off, do you, sister?"

Jumping double kick.

_Thud._

Down Hessia went, blood escaping her nose and mouth. With the back of her hand, the healer wiped away the blood. Then she was on her feet again, attacking with admiral ferocity and speed, putting Diana on the defensive.

But Diana was having none of the older woman's tricks.

Forearm block. Palm-heel strike.

_Thud._

More blood from Hessia's nose. She didn't get up this time, just stared at Diana, breathing heavy but far from exhausted. Using the towel Diana tossed her, Hessia cleaned her blood-streaked face, gingerly dabbing at her nose.

"Dammit, you could've broken it."

"I know. Lie or betray me again and I will."

"It's been nearly two months, Diana, I thought you forgave me."

Lowering herself to the mat, Diana watched as Hessia finished tending to her nose. She would need to put ice on it soon if she didn't want it to double in size over night.

"I did forgive you, but I'm still mad at you."

Hessia gestured to her nose and split lip. "Obviously. I apologized, if you've failed to recall."

She had apologized, but the healer was only sorry for hurting Diana with her deception not about her method of "helping" Diana and "protecting" the world from Superman, or rather "Superdoom" as the news had taken to calling him.

"I remember it all. You had no right doing what you did. I confided in you, and you used that trust to betray me."

"I didn't…look Diana, it wasn't meant as a betrayal. I thought I was helping. You were so upset about having to lie and keep your relationship with Clark a secret. I hated seeing what it was doing to you, how Clark's inability to confront the situation tore at you, how it made you feel less than who you are."

"All of that may be true, but what you did…exposing our relationship, using his own blog no less."

Hessia shrugged. "Someone needed to do something. You were wallowing in self-pity, getting angrier each day, and Clark was acting the scared, selfish fool. Besides, that little blog of his needed some help, just like your relationship. I did what I thought was right, and it all worked out in the end."

"Can you not see how your motivations, no matter how well-intentioned, does not excuse what you did? Am I the only Amazon who thinks the ends do not justify the means?"

Diana was thinking of her mother and the lie her life had been for twenty-three years. Hippoltya had kept the truth of her paternity from her, thinking to protect Diana from Hera's wrath if she ever learned of Hippoltya's brief affair with her husband, Zeus, and the child that resulted from the infidelity.

"I'm not Hippoltya. We're nothing alike," Hessia said, Diana unsurprised her sister had followed the flow of her thoughts.

"You say that, and I think you even believe it to be true. But you both think you know what's best for me, think to act on my behalf instead of allowing me to make my own decisions, my own mistakes. I'm no longer a child, Hessia, and I'd thank you to remember that."

"No, Diana, you aren't a child, this I know quite well. But when it comes to men and life, you are so very inexperienced, as I was when I came to this place of men and violence. Things are not always as they seem, sister. I only wished to spare you some of the heartache I've experienced."

Diana knew Hessia spoke from her heart, the place of sisterhood that dwelled within every Amazon. But Hessia couldn't shield Diana from the vagrancies of life, no more than Hippolyta could prevent Diana from leaving Themsyscria. Yet her mother had let her go, for once trusting Diana to be the responsible woman Hippolyta had raised.

"Pain will come, Hessia. We're Amazons, we understand that truth better than most. But we survive, we endure. It's who we are. Being with Clark, with Superman, will not break me, no matter the ups and down of our courtship."

"No, Diana, not break." Hessia slid close to Diana, close enough to grasp her hands. "There are so many layers to pain, princess, before the heart and spirit finally breaks. Breaking is the easy part, it's the relief that comes after you've been twisted and turned and tortured in ways you've never thought possible. No, Diana, you are no longer a child, nor are you yet woman enough to handle that level of pain. And," she said, stroking Diana's hands with a mother's tenderness, "I hope you never are."

As a healer, Hessia had witnessed her share of pain—physical and psychological. Diana couldn't imagine all that her sister had seen and done over the years. But none of that gave her leeway to interfere in Diana's life the way she had done.

"You're my sister, Hessia, but I won't tolerate more lies from you. I need to be able to trust you."

"You can."

Diana believed her, but they both were Amazons, which meant they tended toward overprotectiveness. If Hessia thought Diana in danger, she might very well make another bad decision. Diana couldn't punish her for what she might do in the future. So, for now, she accepted the healer's words, and hoped she wouldn't later regret it.

Those brown eyes of Hessia's shifted from apologetic to scrutinizing, all in a matter of seconds.

"You're pale, Diana, and, if I'm not mistaken, you've lost a few pounds."

Diana should have known Hessia's too observant healer's eyes would notice the slight weight loss.

"I haven't been sleeping and eating well, nothing to worry about."

"For how long?" Hessia moved closer to Diana, rising to her knees and placing a warm hand on her forehead, cheeks, and then neck. "You're not feverish but your pulse is slow, weak. How long have you felt this way?"

"A few days. A week. Maybe two. I don't really know. Does it matter? It will soon pass."

A disapproving scowl marred Hessia's pretty face, again reminding Diana too much of Hippolyta.

"In my line of work, there is a significant difference between being unwell for a few days versus two weeks. Can you not be more specific?"

Diana probably could, but Hessia was doing that overprotective, motherly thing again, which was truly beginning to grate.

She stood. Diana had things to do, none of which included what Hessia was sure to recommend.

"I need to examine you."

Just like Hessia, the consummate doctor.

With less grace than Diana had used to get to her feet, Hessia also stood, favoring the right leg Diana had kicked and bruised.

"Let's not get into another argument, sister. I'm not in the mood, and I have no interest in another match. My Amazon pride can take losing only once in the same day."

"It will soon pass," she repeated, although the repeated statement didn't hold the conviction it should have. Diana was being stubborn, and feeling uncharacteristically irritable.

"When was the last time you were sick, Diana?"

Hessia walked away from Diana and to the small medical bag she brought with her. The woman carried that thing everywhere she went.

"Let me answer that for you since you seem to be struggling with a response." Hessia returned to Diana's side, her little red-and-white bag in hand. "You get hurt. You fight, you battle, and you get hurt—cuts, bruises, broken bones. You either heal on your own or you come to me. But what you don't do, my little demigoddess, is get sick. So," she said, getting right in Diana's face, hers stern and deadly serious, "you will allow me to examine you or we will destroy this nice exercise room of yours when we battle. On this, I will not back down."

"I thought we just had a conversation about you not making decisions for me, about me being an adult and capable of taking care of myself."

"Well, right now, you're acting like a spoiled brat."

Hessia backed away from Diana, knelt on the mat, and stared up at her expectantly.

Resigned to her fate, Diana laid down on the mat in front of Hessia.

Ten minutes later, Diana was in a state of shock and Hessia was cursing in three ancient languages.

"I will kill him this time. You hear me, Diana. I will kill that Kryptonian of yours, right after I castrate him."

Diana heard very little Hessia had said to her after the sentence that began with, "You're pregnant…"

Everything else after that was caught in a fog of disbelief. She couldn't be pregnant. Hessia had seen to the birth control herself, concocting a contraceptive tailored to Diana's and Clark's unique genetic code, requiring only a biannual injection. Diana wasn't due for another injection for three months.

Placing a hand to her flat middle, Diana didn't know whether to be happy or concerned. She and Clark were not ready to become parents. Hell, she'd only just admitted her love for him.

_How will he react when he learns I'm pregnant? What will we do?_

For the first time in years, Diana felt like crying, wanting nothing more than to feel the loving arms of her mother around her, whispering in her ear that all would be well. Because, no matter how Diana turned the news of her pregnancy over in her head, she couldn't dislodge the sense of wrongness this news had brought to her life.

* * *

**Paradise Island**

**Six Months Later…**

Back against his chest, Clark held Diana, a hand idly rubbing her protruding belly. In two more months, he would be a father. He still hadn't quite wrapped his head around becoming a dad, although the evidence of that pending day was undeniable and moving under his exploring hand.

Every time he felt his son move or when he'd take a peek when Diana was asleep, Clark hadn't been able to bring himself to feel the type of joy he knew he should be feeling. And he had tried, tried to bond with his unborn child, reading and talking to him the way the baby books said the parents should. But there was nothing, no deep emotional connection other than the foreboding of blood and death.

Clark had kept his feelings and worries to himself, unwilling to upset Diana. She had enough to deal with. The pregnancy had taken a terrible toll on his new wife. She'd lost weight instead of gaining, although their child had continued to grow and thrive, according to Hessia. But the healer, like Clark and Hippolyta, had worried about Diana's safety and health.

She'd become weaker as the days and months went by, eating, it seemed, just enough for the baby, very little going to her. Diana had a gaunt look to her nowadays, and she was so very pale, which was why they were on Paradise Island instead of at the Fortress where they had been living after their wedding of two months ago.

"You're doing it again."

Clark knew to what Diana referred, so he didn't bother feigning ignorance.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. As Ma used to say: 'Clark, you need to put some meat on those bones, you're too darn skinny.'"

As he'd hoped, Diana laughed at his Ma Kent impression, a woman he wished could have met his wife. Martha Kent would've loved Diana, and she would've taken every opportunity during the course of Diana's pregnancy to "fatten her up."

"I do try, Clark. I eat more than everyone gives me credit for. It's just…well, I have no explanation why I haven't gained weight like every other pregnant woman. But all is well with our son, that's something at least."

Was it? Clark wasn't so sure. From his way of seeing things, their son was slowly killing his mother—from the inside out. But that was foolish thinking, Clark knew. Rationally, it had to be a medical reason behind Diana's tough pregnancy, although no doctor, Hessia included, had a clue as to what that medical reason could be. Even Bruce had taken it upon himself to examine Diana and do a bit of research. Like everyone else, the Batman had been stumped. Yet he shared the same disturbing theory as Clark, which only served to add to Clark's ever-growing guilt and fear.

He hugged her, not wanting to upset his wife.

"It's all right, sweetheart. Hessia has ordered bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy, and you'll get it. I'll take care of everything."

"Sweetheart?" She lifted sparkling blue eyes to him. "That's new."

"Well, umm, I thought I would try it out. You started it, remember?"

Diana smiled. "When I called you 'darling'. Yes, I remember. I have no idea where that came from. You were leaving Earth, and I didn't know whether I would ever see you again. I wanted you to know how I felt about you, but…"

Clark kissed the side of her face. "But you still couldn't bring yourself to say those three little words to me."

"I should have, not just then, but when you said them to me the first time." Diana leaned up, bringing her face closer to his. "I was a coward back then, Clark. I apologize for not being more forthright about my feelings for you. It should not have taken almost losing you to the Doomsday virus for me to admit that I loved you."

Stroking her hair, shiny and luscious, Clark kissed Diana again, on her lips this time.

"Your actions, sweetheart. I knew your feelings for me because of your actions, though the words were nice to finally hear. Even a man, a superman, likes to have the words, Diana."

"I know. So, we still haven't come up with a name for our son. Any ideas?"

Diana resettled against his chest, the bed large and comfortable, and the suite open and airy.

Despite the emotional detachment he felt towards his unborn, Clark had tossed around an idea or two. After all, his intuition, this one time, may be wrong. Diana's pregnancy may have taken them both by surprise, but the idea of raising a child with Diana wasn't an unpleasant one. In fact, it brought him much joy. Already it had garnered him a loving and devoted wife. Again, sooner than expected, but Clark would've proposed to Diana in time. And, yeah, he was enough of an old-fashioned kind of guy to not want his child born outside of the sanctity of marriage.

"I kind of like the names Jor and Jonathan, after my fathers."

"Those are good, honorable names. What about Clark or Kal?"

"Those are good, too, but I'm not the only one with a heritage, Diana. Do you have any names in mind?"

She glided the hand that was slowly making its way to her rather spectacularly large breasts and back to the rise of her belly, permitting him to feel their baby move within her.

"I'm partial to the name Athos. It means immortal."

"Athos Kal-El? How does that sound?"

"It sounds—"

Clark felt the brutal kick a second before Diana screamed, sitting up in shock and pain.

Moving to her side, Clark went to touch her when Diana screamed again, grabbing her stomach and falling onto her back.

Another scream.

Another.

And another.

Diana grabbed at her stomach, face contorted in blinding agony.

More screaming—loud and heart wrenching.

Not knowing what to do, Clark ran to the door, swung it open and bellowed, "Someone get Hessia. Diana is in labor."

A minute later, Hippolyta was by her daughter's side and a crush of Amazons in the doorway, Aleka towering over them all, her eyes full of hatred when they met Clark's.

"Let us through. Let us through," Clark heard Hessia yell, pushing her way through the throng of concerned Amazons.

Once inside, two other healers with her, Hessia slammed and locked the door.

When Hessia reached the bed, Clark thought she would faint when she took in her patient. As it was, he'd had to catch Hippolyta when she had first seen Diana.

Blood was everywhere—Diana's legs, mouth, nose, and, most especially, her stomach, the white nightgown she wore drenched in blood and sticking to her body.

Another contraction hit, sending Diana to her side, her mouth opening as she coughed up blood.

He didn't know what to do, but thankfully, Hessia did.

"Clark, lift Diana off that filthy bed. Hippolyta, help Clark get Diana out of that soiled gown."

She gestured to the other two healers.

"You know what I need. Now go."

Everyone moved, quickly following Hessia's commands.

In no time at all, the bloody bed was stripped, the sheets replaced with a plastic covering.

While he held Diana through two more body-wracking contractions, Hippoltya used the small knife she kept sheathed at her side to cut off Diana's nightgown. Their eyes met when Diana's malnourished body was revealed, Hippolyta's mouth tightening with anger, as much as with fear.

"Put her down." Another command from the healer.

Clark quickly complied, gingerly laying his wife on the bed. Once down, he watched as Hessia pulled one crystal after another from her medical bag, recognizing the purple one from when he'd brought Diana to her after the nuclear explosion. She'd done wonders for Diana that day. He only hoped she would do the same today.

But Diana had stopped screaming, stopped moving, in fact.

"Gods, Hessia, is she…?" Now, there was no anger in Hippolyta's eyes, just the terror of a mother for her only child.

"No, but she will be if we don't get this abomination out of her."

There was no time to chide Hessia about her unkind characterization of his son, especially since, deep down, Clark agreed with the healer.

One of the assistants held the purple crystal above Diana, while the other opened another medical bag, handing Hessia a scalpel.

"What are you going to do?" Hippolyta asked, the answer evident when Hessia ran a blue crystal across Diana's lower uterine section, leaving a glowing blue line just above the edge of the bladder.

"I'll do a traverse cut here. That way it will be less blood loss and easier to repair."

"What about pain killers?" Clark asked, not wanting Diana to suffer any more than she already had.

"That's what this crystal is for," the tall, curly haired healer said, nodding to the purple crystal in her hand, the glow from the crystal highlighting Diana's lifeless and bloody form.

Clark swallowed—hard, and then went to hold his wife's hand. But Hippolyta pulled him away from the bed with a soft, "Let them work, Clark. They can't save our Diana if we are underfoot."

"What about the baby, Hippolyta? Do you not care if he is saved?"

She didn't respond, which was answer enough for Clark. But he did as she said, staying far enough away from the bed as to not be in the healers way, but close enough to see what they were doing to Diana.

He watched, heart in his throat, when Hessia began to cut. But when a beastly wail sounded, she stopped, scalpel in hand, eyes wide in horror. Then Clark heard…ripping? Clawing?

The curly haired healer screamed, nearly dropping the purple crystal, her other hand flying to her mouth and covering a gasp. Her eyes large and frightened.

Rushing to his wife's side, Clark pushed the alarmed healer out of the way.

And there, protruding from Diana's stomach was a tiny clawed hand, covered in liquid crimson. Down it went, back into Diana's stomach and then up again, ripping and shredding, working that singular claw, fighting its way out.

"Get that thing out of her!" Hippolyta yelled. "Get it out, Hessia, Now!"

But Clark was already on it, snatching the purple crystal from the useless healer and holding it over the jagged hole that was his wife's middle. Next came red lasers from his eyes, finishing the C-section that Hessia had started.

"Pull him out."

She did, hurriedly extracting the baby from his too-still mother. One clawed hand swiped at Hessia's face, just missing her eye, the older woman cheetah fast, barely avoiding the attack. With deft movements, she swathed the baby in a towel and handed him over to her assistant. Just as quickly, she commandeered the purple crystal from Clark, placed it closer to Diana's wounds and began to recite something in a language he didn't know.

Diana began to glow, and Hessia kept up her chanting. Vaguely, Clark heard Hippoltya ask for the baby and the side door to the suite open and close.

"Will she be all right?"

Hessia didn't respond, just kept holding the crystal and praying over Diana.

Clark prayed as well. What more could he do?

Ten minutes later, Hessia opened her eyes. The gaping hole and incision were now closed, and red, raw marks puckered Diana's flesh.

"I have more yet to do," Hessia said, before Clark repeated his question from earlier. "But you should go now."

"I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave my wife."

Finally, she looked up at him, pity and fury in her brown orbs. "That monster deserves to die. For what it did to her tonight and for the way it was starving her these past eight months, if it were a man I would kill it myself. But it is still Diana's son…and yours. If you want that monster, I suggest you find Hippolyta before it's too late."

Clark glanced around the suite, Hippolyta nowhere to be found. Then he remembered hearing her leave, with the baby presumably, since he, too, was gone.

With reluctance, Clark left Diana with Hessia and her assistants.

Opening the balcony doors, Clark lifted into the air, listening for the beastly wail of his son.

He flew in the direction of the small whimpers of sound, easily sighting Hippolyta from the air, the woman standing near the edge of a cliff, his son in her arms.

"Don't do it." Clark landed behind his mother-in-law. "I know what you're thinking, what this place is, and I'm asking you to not do it."

Diana had told Clark all about this place. Male children were unacceptable in Amazon society, so they were tossed from this cliff, to fall and die on the rocks and in the sea below.

He would not allow his son to have that fate, no matter his feelings towards him. He didn't ask to be brought into this world. It wasn't his fault.

Hippolyta turned to Clark, her regal, blue gown whipping in the night wind, along with her unbound blonde hair.

"You dare to ask me to allow this creature to live? You, the man who put this foul thing inside of my daughter."

"I didn't mean—"

"Did you not go to her after your fight with that Doomsday creature? Did you not inhale what was left of that beast then bed my daughter, spilling your tainted seed inside of her?"

God help him, Clark had. And Diana's birth control hadn't worked because his DNA had been altered.

"You did this to her." Tears flowed and Clark thought Hippolyta would throw the baby into the sea. "This beast clawed its way into the world, bringing forth its own birth through the attempted murder of its mother. This is the life you wish for me to spare? Your barbaric progeny?"

Hippolyta extended the hand with the baby over the edge of the cliff.

And dropped him.

Faster than he'd ever moved, Clark blazed passed Hippolyta and over the cliff.

In a row boat, at the bottom of the cliff, was Hephaestus.

"So, Superman, what shall I call this Manazon?"

Clark looked from Diana's half-brother and to the naked baby he held—black hair, blue eyes, and half-human hands. He stared at the strangely quiet son who had, yes, nearly murdered his mother to be born.

With a heavy heart, Clark said the words that would forever seal his fate. "His name is Athos. He is yours now. As far as Diana and the world will know, he was stillborn. Take him Hephaestus. Your sister is better off without him."

Not bothering to watch as Hephaestus rowed away, Clark lifted into the air, putting distance between himself, his son, and guilt.

And, three days later when Diana finally awoke, he held her when she wept, shedding tears for the son she would never know, for the son Clark hoped to never see again.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

**Earth-16**

**2022**

**Metropolis**

Athos sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the main office of his elementary school, across from the secretary's desk. The woman barely spared him more than a curt nod and a brisk, "You again, Kent." She'd shaken her head at him, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling as if in prayer. Then she'd picked up her desk phone. "As often as you're in here, I should have your parents' numbers on speed dial. Some kids," she'd snorted, dialing the number from memory. "They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Well, in your case, you must be from another tree because your parents are lovely people."

He heard his mother's voice on the other end of the line right before Mrs. Lawrence—the too-short, too-fat secretary—mumbled, "No wonder he's an only child. Who would risk having another kid like him?"

His mother had arrived fifteen minutes ago, and she was now in the principal's office. Normally, when he'd get in trouble, Mrs. Winters, the principal, would have him sit in on the meeting as well. This time, however, he'd been asked to wait outside.

Slumping in the chair, Athos fumed at the exclusion. He hated the principal, with the cheery "Good mornings," she offered to all the students, to her "Why can't you be like the other kids, Athos? I know you have it in you to behave." She would say that with a smile as well, but Athos could smell the lie on her. Mrs. Winters, Mrs. Lawrence, and all the teachers Athos have ever had thought of him in the same way—an uncontrollable bully.

He balled his hands at the thought. He was no bully. The other kids were weaklings. He had no time for the weak, stupid humans. Their minds were slow and their bodies even slower. It took them forever to finish a simple math equation. School was boring, and his teachers were stupid. They had nothing to teach him that he didn't already know. Why his parents insisted on sending him to this lame school was beyond him.

By the time he was five, he'd already mastered seven languages. Now, at eight, he knew double that many, including a couple considered "dead languages." His reading and math were on the collegiate level, yet he was stuck in a third grade class with a bunch of morons who couldn't see past a pair of glasses to realize when they were in the presence of Superman and Wonder Woman.

_What a bunch of losers. I should've kicked all their asses, instead of the jerk who made fun of me. How dare they laugh at me. _

His fists balled tighter, and Athos felt his eyes begin to redden and claws extend. He focused on that point in his head, a safe, calm place his mother told him to visit whenever the beast threatened to overwhelm him.

He did it now, not wanting to get into more trouble than he was already in by revealing his family's secret. Breathing slow but deep, Athos focused on the only thing in his life that gave him peace and made him happy. _Mother. _She was there, in his mind's eye, smiling down at him in that patient way of hers.

With that thought, a tendril of guilt penetrated then destroyed the image. His mother would not be pleased with having to meet with the principal yet again. She rarely scolded, but when she did, Athos was always left with a feeling of disappointment. It was not a good feeling to disappoint one's mother, especially when she asked so little of him. In fact, she only ever asked one thing of Athos. _"You must always be in control of your powers, Athos. If not, you will hurt innocents. Take care, son, if you lose control you risk losing your heart, your soul."_

But she didn't understand. No one truly understood. Losing control wasn't Athos' issue, it was the sweet taste of rightness that came over him when he bested an opponent, making them bleed, scream in pain and beg for mercy. It was all about the conquest. And Athos had found that he had an unquenchable thirst for subjugation, for winning by any means.

It wasn't the way of Wonder Woman and Superman, of his parents, but Athos wasn't them, no matter that he was the spitting image of his father and had his mother's divine blood in his veins, giving truth to his name—immortal.

Athos found himself frowning at the principal's closed office door. He wished he had x-ray vision like his father. As it was, he could just make out what Principal Winters was saying to his mother. He wondered if, in time, he would develop powers like his parents. He didn't have super vision or hearing, nor could he fly. He was, however, very strong and fast. His father told him his powers would eventually "kick in," though he didn't seem particularly happy about that prospect. In fact, Athos was pretty sure his current frown matched the one his father often wore when Athos did something "inappropriate."

Acting as if he weren't listening to the conversation on the other side of the door, Athos fought not to lean closer, but all he heard was the principal's soft, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kent. I wish things could've been different. I wish you and your husband the best of luck."

Then there was shifting of feet and movement toward the door. Quickly, Athos sat up straight and placed his hands in his lap.

Within seconds, the principal's door cracked open and out came his mother. Mrs. Winters didn't follow, but she stood in the doorway, staring at his mother's back and shaking her head, sympathy in her chocolate eyes. But when those same eyes shifted to him, they darkened, narrowed, and then brightened in shamed relief.

It was then Athos knew. He would never return to this school. No wonder his mother had such a stony, resigned look on her face. She stopped in front of him, the blue eyes behind the glasses revealing none of the frustration and dissatisfaction she had to be feeling. _I let her down. Again. Why can't I control myself? Why can't I be good, at least for her?_

"Do you have all of your belongings, Athos?"

He nodded.

His teacher had made sure he'd taken his lunch box and backpack with him when she'd sent him to the office, referral in hand. There was a blue-and-white jacket, a couple of toy cars, and a Superman action figure in his locker, none of which Athos cared enough about to stay in this school a minute longer.

"Then we can leave. Come along."

His mother extended her hand to him and Athos took it, sliding from the wooden chair and grabbing his backpack with his other hand. Swinging the bag over his right shoulder, he followed his mother out of the main office, down two hallways and out into the school parking lot. And not once did his mother utter one word to him, which wasn't like her at all. Athos could count his friends on one hand and he would still have four fingers left.

The woman holding his hand, gentle and silent, was his only friend. And he had brought shame to her once more, dishonoring her with his continued mischief. But she said nothing, just continued to walk to her car, long, determined strides he knew well.

Standing mutely, Athos waited for his mother to unlock the door. Once he heard the _pop_ from the remote she held in her right hand, he opened the rear door, tossed his backpack in, and hopped onto his booster seat which, admittedly, he really didn't need. But he was eight, and his family was all about pretending to be "normal." And human eight-year olds, like all his former classmates, still used booster seats.

Fifteen minutes later they were home, and his mother had yet to speak one word to him about school. She did, however, have him wash his hands and fed him a snack—baby carrots and peanut butter.

"I'm sorry," Athos said around a mouth of peanut butter, but was quickly admonished for talking with his mouth full. After swallowing, taking a sip of milk, and making sure to wipe his mouth on the napkin his mother had placed beside his plate, Athos said again, "I'm really sorry, Mother."

He wasn't sorry about popping that kid one and pushing him down the hill. They were playing "King of the Hill." And Athos was the undisputed King of the Hill. He'd won, beat all challengers, and shut Marcus up. After he landed at the bottom of the hill, he was no longer laughing at Athos.

"Marcus called me a 'momma's boy,'" he confessed, wanting her to understand his motivation for doing what he did. Although the bullying hadn't been the only motivation, but it was the primary one and the only one he was willing to share with his mother. Amazons, despite their warrior spirit, were not bullies. His mother, no matter Athos' rationale, would not so easily excuse his misbehavior.

"Come with me."

Diana moved from the kitchen table, and Athos followed. She walked them down the hall and up a flight of stairs. Once upstairs, she made a right and continued until she reached her bedroom. The door was open, so she stepped aside and allowed him to precede her in.

The room, as always, was spotless, his father compulsive about having everything in its place. A four-poster bed was pushed against one of the walls, which was where Athos sat while he waited for his mother.

Once entering, she went to her closet. When she turned, she wore her bracers.

"Are you going out as Wonder Woman, Mother? Did you get an emergency call while I ate?"

"No, but this is an emergency, of sorts."

She moved to the bed and knelt in front of him. And, for the first time in his short life, there were tears in his mother's eyes. Amazons did not cry. Wonder Woman did not cry. Diana Kent, his mother, apparently did.

"I think I have failed you." She wiped away the tears that hadn't yet fallen, and then held out her wrists to him. "When my mother gave these to me, I was a little older than you are now. I, too, was bullied and called names. Unfortunately, for some kids, even for some adults, to make themselves feel better about their own shortcomings, they seek to hurt others by passing along their pain and inferiority complexes."

Athos couldn't imagine anyone ever daring to bully his mother. Even as a child, she could've crushed any kid who'd come off wrong to her.

"Did you beat them up when they called you names?"

They would've deserved it if she had. Even now, as powerful as his mother was, she tempered her strength with fairness, justice, and patience. _Just like now, with me._

On a sigh she admitted, "I did. Not often, but yes, sometimes I let my anger get the better of me. And, if I'm to be totally honest with you, Athos, such fits of anger occurred when I was a young woman as well. Even now, I have to be cognizant of not only my temper, but the reactions they may result in if I'm not careful."

His small hands reached out, thin fingers running over strangely cool bracers.

"My mother had these made for me."

"To protect you."

He'd seen news footage of his mother in battle, her bracers up and blocking all manner of projectiles. He'd wanted to be there with her, fighting by her side, making sure nothing and no one harmed her. But he was still a boy, far too small and weak to be of any use. Yet one day he would be a man, as big and as strong as his father, then he would protect her, make anyone pay who dared to shoot weapons at her.

"Not for my protection. Well, I guess in a way they were. No, Mother had your Uncle Hephaestus make them to dampen my divine powers."

He didn't understand. "You're saying you're actually stronger when you're not wearing the bracers?"

"In a way, yes. But that much power makes me a bigger threat. The more power a person possesses, the more damage they can also cause."

"But who wouldn't want to be all-powerful? One day I'll be stronger than Zeus. I'll rule Olympus and take Grandfather's throne."

Obviously that was the absolutely wrong thing to say because his mother frowned then rigorously shook her head.

"True power comes with restraint, Athos. That's what these bracers represent. They only suppress so much, and I can take them off at any time. That is a different, more important level of power. The fact that I can be more powerful but choose not to unless the situation truly warrants such an act, that is, in part, what it means to be a hero, to be Wonder Woman. The choice is always mine. I control it, it doesn't control me. When I wear these bracers, they remind me that even divine beings should have limitations, self-imposed or otherwise."

"You're saying I should've handled the situation with Marcus in a different way?"

"I'm saying you broke the child's arm and could have killed him if you would've used a bit more force or he landed differently. I'm saying that Marcus was no match for you—intellectually or physically. I'm saying that the bigger part of valor is often walking away and doing nothing."

Athos didn't know how to do any of those things. Worse, he had a feeling he didn't want to learn. But he hated disappointing his mother, hated that he had made her cry, and hated that she blamed herself for his shortcomings.

"You want me to wear the bracers, don't you?"

"No, not want, but I think you should. Perhaps they will do for you what they did for me."

One-by-one his mother removed her bracers and placed them on his forearms. They were far too big, he thought. But once they were in place, they glowed silver and began to change, contorting to his smaller arms until they fit him perfectly, stopping half-way to his elbow.

"They will adjust as you grow. They are yours now, from mother to son, from my heart to your heart, from my hopes and dreams for you to your hopes and dreams for yourself. With love and devotion, I grant you this gift."

He held up his arms and stared at them, choosing not to think on what his mother had just said to him. It was an old Amazon prayer, this he knew, but the meaning went much deeper. Time would prove how deeply the prayer went, and how seriously his mother had meant her words.

The bracers were lighter than they looked and more comfortable than he would've thought. "I feel the same."

"I know, but that will change when you feel the urge to use your powers. The bracers won't weaken you, but they will prevent you from using nearly forty percent of your power. And, for people like us, sixty percent is still a lot of power, especially since your abilities will increase with age."

"Will I have to wear them all the time?"

"For starters, yes. I want you to get used to them, feel how they adjust and manipulate your speed and strength."

"But I can remove them whenever I like?"

"Yes. Restraint cannot be externally imposed; it has to be internally submitted to. The choice will always be yours, Athos. But understand this, when you abuse and misuse what the gods have given you as a birthright, there will always be someone willing and able to bring you to justice. Or worse, have their revenge against you."

He almost told her that he would destroy anyone who threatened him, that there would be no one stronger or more powerful than he. _Not even Superman._

Yet he said nothing, not wanting to worry his mother and make her cry again. He was glad his father wasn't there. Mother understood him so much better than his father. Besides, if his father had seen his mother cry over Athos, he would've been angry with him. Not that he feared his father, of course. Clark Kent didn't yell or scream, or even raise his voice, but he did have a way of looking at Athos as if he were some four-headed creature dredged from the bowels of Hades.

He hated that look. And, some days, he hated his father. Life would be so much better if it were just Athos and Diana.

Unable to help himself, Athos climbed off of the bed and into his mother's warm, loving lap. She always smelled so good, like a spring flower.

She held him as if he hadn't just caused her so much trouble, and kissed the top of his head.

"I'm sorry, Mother." Tears welled in his eyes, and he fought them back. He was a big boy. He was Athos the Immortal, and immortals did not cry, not even when held so sweetly by their mother.

She kissed his forehead then lifted his chin so they were eye-to-eye.

"Don't be sorry; be better, much, much better. I'm not asking for or expect perfection, Athos, but I do expect you to be a good and kind person."

Athos wanted that as well, but . . .

He pressed his face into her neck and held her even closer. He wasn't a good and kind boy. He would wear the bracers, but knew when the time came he would take them off and be Athos the Immortal, Athos the Conqueror. It was to be his lot in life, and the woman rocking and soothing him with her high expectations and gentle warning, would one day see that she was wrong and he was right. Because absolute power did not corrupt, it made one untouchable.

She would see it his way, eventually. Until then, Athos would try to be better, for her, only ever for her.

* * *

When Clark arrived home, his off-world mission having kept him away from his family for a week, Clark wasn't at all surprised by the sight that greeted him when he entered his bedroom. Beside Diana, in their bed, was their son, sleeping like the dead. The boy used every away-mission or overnight at the Watchtower to claim Clark's side of the bed. Oddly enough, whenever Diana spent a night away from home, Clark never awoke to Athos next to him. Apparently, the child had no interest in sleeping with his Dad.

The sight was as tender as it was disturbing, for all the unspoken undertones it represented. Athos was protective of his mother, and Clark could appreciate that character trait in his son. The problem, as always with Athos, was that the child took everything to the damn extreme, viewing most people as threats or challengers. And that included his father.

Between them, everything was a competition in Athos' eyes. He didn't just want to surpass Clark in every possible way, he viewed Clark as a barrier to him achieving his ultimate goal. And that ultimate goal, Clark was slowly realizing, stank of nefarious intent—most likely world domination. The thought hurt and worried Clark. That wasn't a normal long-term goal of an eight-year old, especially not a child of Wonder Woman and Superman.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Athos wasn't simply a child of Clark and Diana, but also the offspring of Doomsday. That acknowledgement had been a bitter pill for Clark. It still was. But the truth of what he created grew more apparent the older Athos became, a simmering fuse of death and destruction hidden behind the innocent face of what should have been a hero in the making. Instead, Athos, if Clark and Diana didn't figure how out to curb his violent instincts, would develop into a worse version of Doomsday. Worse because Doomsday was a rampaging brute with basic social cognition, but Athos was a cognitively enriched child—a genius by any standard.

Shaking his head, Clark undressed, brushed his teeth, and then showered. Once done with his nightly routine, he walked to his bed and plucked his son from it, careful not to jostle and awake the boy. A minute later, Clark had Athos in his own bed, covers up to his shoulders and nightlight on.

Clark didn't even want to know what Athos had done this time. Once he spotted Diana's bracers on the child, Clark had concluded that Athos had finally committed an act worthy of a magical intervention. Diana had been on the fence for a long while, not wanting Athos to feel any more different than he already did. Yet here he slept, power-dampening bracers on. Clark knew Diana would tell him the details in the morning, no point fretting over the unknown tonight.

For long minutes, Clark watched his son sleep, wondering if Doomsday had begun to speak to Athos the way he'd spoken to Clark when he had been infected. Or whether the virus even worked the same way in Athos as it had in him. Based on Bruce's thorough examination of Athos, it appeared that the virus did not. In fact, there was no biological evidence of the Doomsday virus at all in Athos. But it was there, whether medical technology could detect it or not. It was there.

_And I put it there. It's in his genes, it's who and what he is. _

Kissing Athos's baby soft cheeks, Clark lingered at his son's bedside for a few minutes more, wishing he had the power to change what he'd done and cursing, for the thousandth time, the weakness he'd shown nine years ago, visiting Diana's London apartment and making love to her.

Ambling back into his bedroom, Clark crawled into bed beside Diana. He knew she was no longer asleep, so he wasn't surprised when she turned to face him.

"Welcome home."

Clark smiled. Diana could always make him smile, with very little effort. "It's good to be home."

He wanted to tell her about his mission and ask her about Athos, but it was after midnight and Diana appeared as if she'd had a long, hard day. _Dealing with Athos' mischief for a week would make anyone exhausted._

He leaned over and kissed her—soft and warm. Clark opened his arms, and she came, holding him as tightly as he held her. The feel and smell of her always had a way of soothing and reassuring Clark. They had married for the sake of their child, neither knowing whether a rushed marriage between them would work, their courtship barely a year before Diana's unexpected pregnancy. Despite their cultural differences, however, Clark and Diana had a strong marriage. It wasn't without its disagreements and misunderstandings, but they loved and respected each other, which turned out to be an excellent foundation upon which to build a solid marriage. If Athos didn't carry the Doomsday virus, their little family would've been perfect.

"How is Athos?"

"Sleeping like a hibernating bear."

"He hurt another kid today and got himself expelled. I'm pretty sure we can fight the expulsion, but I think it best we homeschool him. At least until he learns how to control himself."

And that meant Athos would never return to school—public or private.

"Is the child okay?"

He felt her nod against his neck. "I called the mother and offered my apologies, as well as to pay doctor's fees."

"What did she say?"

"She said her son is in an arm cast and pain, they have medical insurance and don't need handouts from 'shitty parents', and that our son would probably be the next school shooter. Then she told me to get Athos medical help before hanging up on me."

Clark winced. Diana had indeed had a wretched day. She didn't deserve to be spoken to in that manner, although Clark couldn't begrudge the woman her anger.

Clark closed his eyes and took ten deep breaths before opening them again.

"I don't know if we can prevent the inevitable," he whispered, pulling back just enough to see her lovely face. "I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry our child and others will suffer because of me."

Diana began shaking her head, as she always did when he rightfully shouldered the blame for how Athos was and the villain Clark was sure he would grow into. But Diana's denial of the truth, the obvious, did nothing to absolve Clark of responsibility, of his unending remorse.

"It's not your fau—"

He kissed her again, silencing Diana's protest, the lie she kept telling herself and him. Clark appreciated the sentiment, but it changed nothing of consequence. Yet it did feel shamefully good to have one person in the relationship to not blame him.

"I want to give you another child," was his confession after reluctantly ending the kiss. "You have no idea how much I want us to try again, to get it right this time. You shouldn't have to raise a mon—"

Diana shushed him with a gentle hand to his mouth. "He's our child, Clark. We cannot forsake Athos because he is not as we wish him to be. We love him, despite the pain he sometimes brings us."

Of course, Clark loved his son. But one day Clark and Diana would have to make a decision about Athos. Diana never wanted to speak about the ever-encroaching future, and all Clark could do was ponder that same future, wanting to stop time, keeping Athos in his child state where he was still manageable and not yet capable of utter devastation.

A second child would solve nothing, which didn't prevent Clark from wanting to have that child with Diana, anyway. But the risk was too high, the safety of the child ever most in Clark's mind.

"You want more children, too. But you won't for the same reason I won't. We know Athos will tolerate no other child in this home, seeing you love a baby in the same way you love him. He's covetous of you, even when it comes to me. He'll hurt the baby. I know it's a terrible thing to say about my own child, but there is no doubt in my mind that Athos would harm the child, perhaps even kill it."

Diana visibly shrank from those words, but there was no contradictory shake of her head, only sad, concurring eyes.

No, they would have no more children. Something else for Clark to feel guilty about.

They lay on their backs, holding hands and staring at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he repeated into the darkness, not knowing what else to say to his wife.

Diana said nothing, just turned on her side and away from Clark.

Perhaps a small part of her blamed him after all. If that were true, well, it was nothing more than what he deserved.

"Clark," Diana said, soft voice shattering the silence, "when the time comes, I don't think I'll have the strength of heart to do what needs doing. No matter what, he's my son, and I could never hurt him."

Yeah, Clark knew that.

Diana slid to his side of the bed, placing her head on a shoulder and an arm around his waist.

He hugged her to him. "Neither can I."

Which meant only one thing—the world was doomed.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

**Earth-36**

**2044**

**Mt. Olympus**

"Wait here, Kal. I'd rather not have anyone see you until I inform Zeus of your presence."

"And that I'll be staying for a few days."

Diana hoped to not be gone that long. A day at most, but surely nothing more. Once she explained her situation to Earth Prime's Clark and Diana, she had no doubt the couple would be willing to help. After all, if they were anything like her and Kal, they wouldn't turn their backs on someone in need. Admittedly, Diana was curious about the couple, curious about their life and relationship, and, of course, curious about what made them so different that they hadn't fallen into the pregnancy trap.

According to Bruce, the couple from Earth Prime, the Diana and Clark most like Diana and Kal, hadn't produced Athos or any other offspring. But what Diana didn't understand was why Bruce wanted her to retrieve the couple from 2014 instead of 2044, their current time. Intergalactic space travel was one thing, but time travel was something entirely different, neither of which she felt totally comfortable engaging.

"This is a nice room. And the bed is huge."

Diana watched as Kal, dressed in the famed blue-and-red of Superman, bounce up and down on her bed, a child-like twinkle in his stunning blue eyes. Eyes that had haunted Diana's dreams for ten long years.

"It's not a trampoline, stop that."

"It's just my butt, Diana, not my feet. Besides, a husband has a right to comment on and try out his wife's bed, especially when he's not the one sharing it with her."

Diana scoffed at his not so subtle way of asking if she'd taken a lover since their separation. If it wasn't for the fact that she found herself wanting to know the same about him, Diana would've been insulted.

"We're still married, Kal, and I'm not my father. Infidelity does not run in the family."

The look Kal shot her could only be described as relieved. Gracious, had he actually thought her capable of taking a lover? Well, he obviously had. After all, it had been a decade since she left him, words of stunned betrayal between them.

And, ten years later, betrayal still hung between them, a rotting corpse that defined their marriage.

Standing, Kal walked to where she stood by the front door to her bedchamber. Despite it all, his nearness still managed to send ripples of female awareness through her body, reminding Diana that ten years was a long time indeed to go without the touch of her husband—the man she still loved in spite of his betrayal and her broken heart.

"There's been no one for me either, Diana. I know you didn't ask, but I just wanted to put it out there, in case you were wondering, in case you still cared."

More feelers from her Kryptonian. Of course she wondered, although she would never admit that to him. She still cared, too—deeply and forever. But that changed nothing between them.

"Are you planning on heading to the Manor after your conversation with Zeus?"

"Yes. I'll come back here and pack an overnight bag first, though. Then I intend to speak with Athos, let him know I'll be away for the night. He becomes agitated if I'm gone too long."

"Agitated how?"

"The same as before, Kal. But…" Diana didn't want to get into any of this with Kal right now. Anytime they discussed Athos, it eventually devolved into an argument. She had no interest in arguing with her husband today, not when she still had her father and son to contend with. "Let's not do this now. I don't want to argue with you."

"I wasn't trying to start a fight. It was just a question." Kal reached up, took hold of her chin and lifted, examining her face with worried eyes. "You haven't been getting enough sleep, and you're too pale. How often do you leave this place? When was the last time you've been to Themyscria?"

Diana tugged her chin out of his hand, and Kal's probing fingers dropped away. Suddenly feeling caged in, Diana walked around Kal, putting some much-needed distance between them.

Back to him and arms crossed over her chest, Diana said, "Themyscria hasn't been my home since Zeus came for me." He'd come for her on her thirteenth birthday. And, before that, Ares had taken an interest in her warrior training. But it wasn't until Zeus had appeared in the middle of her mother's throne room, bearing a dozen roses and wishing her a happy birthday that her life had forever changed.

"Themyscria is in your heart, Diana, and you are queen. They need your wisdom and guidance. Please tell me that you haven't turned your back on them, too."

She hated the way he said that, worse, she hated the guilt his words evoked. She hadn't turned her back on her sisters. Yet home held so many bitter-sweet memories for Diana. Within the span of a single night, Diana's loss had been nearly more than she could bear, Kal's betrayal, two weeks later, the final emotional straw. No, she wouldn't lose Athos, as well, not after that horrible night.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

And she hadn't turned her back on Kal, despite their current positions.

Diana moved to face Kal.

"I travel to Themyscria once a month, if you must know. As for you, you know why I'm here."

"I do."

"Yet you still refuse to tell me the truth?"

Kal's frown was subtle but there. Even after decades of battling villains, Kal still wore his emotions far too openly. Yet he wasn't so open that he didn't know how to keep a secret.

A large hand ran through thick, black hair, blue eyes apologetic but unyielding. "It's complicated."

"It's only as complicated as you've made it, Kal."

"So, you're saying you won't forgive me unless I explain myself?"

He made it sound as if she was the one being unreasonable and not himself.

"No, I'm saying that I could never not forgive you. It took time, true, but I can now honestly say that I've forgiven you for what you did."

"That's great, then we can—"

Diana stepped away when Kal made to touch her, ignoring the pain her action brought to his eyes.

"But I can't move forward with you and our marriage with a lie between us. Whatever it was, Kal, you could've trusted me with the truth. You didn't have to go to Zeus. If I hadn't begged him, he would've killed Athos. Is that what you wanted? For Zeus to do what Bruce tried and failed to do?"

"_No!"_ he roared. "Dammit, Diana, no. He's my son. I love him."

"Then why? Why give him to Zeus?"

The argument Diana didn't wish to have raged now, Kal and Diana angry, hurt, and yelling.

"I thought Zeus could do what we couldn't."

"Which was?"

"Contain him. We tried, Diana. You know how hard we tried. But no matter what we did, Athos's will was greater than our own."

"He's sick."

Kal's laugh was brittle and sad. "No, my sweet wife, Athos is what I made him. You forgave me that, too, but I've never been able to forgive myself. I know it's easier to think of our son as having a curable medical condition, but that's a lie, a convenient delusion."

"I'm _not _delusional, Kal. I know Athos can be violent, even vindictive. But there is also goodness in him. I see it, feel it. He is capable of love and doesn't deserve what you and Zeus has done to him."

"He only loves you, Diana. I'm not even sure if he loves himself, but he definitely adores you. He's kind and sweet to you, in a way he's never been to me. And, if he could, he would be the son you deserve. I could see it when he was a boy. He tried, he really did try. But it was beyond him, not in his nature."

"So you think traveling to Earth Prime will be a waste of time?"

'I'm saying that Bruce has a scheme that has nothing to do with a supposed cure for Athos."

Diana felt the same way, but she'd exhausted all her options. Athos was not a lost cause, as Kal was implying. If she believed that, then what would that mean for her son? She couldn't just leave him to Zeus and her brothers and return to the Fortress with Kal. When Zeus had decided he wanted to play daddy to an Amazon princess, Hippolyta could do nothing to keep Diana with her. Not even having the sword of Hephaestus pressed to Zeus's throat, Hippolyta willing to kill or be killed to keep Diana with her, was enough to thwart Zeus's plan.

He'd relented that day to only send Ares to her five nights later, killing the guard's Hippolyta had placed at Diana's bedroom door and scurrying Diana away, tied and gagged to keep her quiet and under control. After that, Zeus had kept Diana away from Themyscria and on Mt. Olympus for five years, permitting her to leave at the age of eighteen when she traveled to the outside world. Instead of going straight there, however, Diana took a detour to her former island home, to only find access to it blocked.

She hadn't believed Zeus when he'd told her that Hippolyta had had her for thirteen uninterrupted years and he would have the same. So it wasn't until the age of twenty-six that Diana was granted the right to return to the island and her mother, Zeus lifting his magical ban. By then, however, she was already married and a mother in her own right. But she'd never forgotten how Hippolyta had wept when she'd returned—tears of happiness, sorrow, and regret.

With Athos, Diana had experienced a myriad of emotions since his birth. Unfortunately, having Athos as a son had brought too few moments of true happiness—for Diana, for Kal. They were a scarred, imperfect family, overdue for healing and in need of reconciliation. She didn't know if her trip would yield either, but Diana had nothing to lose by going.

"I have to go, Kal. I have to try to save our son, even if it's a fool's errand. I was ripped away from my mother long ago, but a part of me has never recovered from that. And that part still longs for those thirteen years I will never get back."

And now Hippolyta was lost to Diana forever—her death unexpected.

"So now you think me like Zeus?"

In this one way he was, making decisions for her without taking her feelings or thoughts into consideration. But in most other ways, Kal and Zeus were polar opposites.

This conversation was going nowhere. If she answered him, that would only add fuel to the fire. Kal was right. Diana was so very tired—of spirit and heart.

"I think it's time for me to speak with Father."

When Diana made to turn and walk toward the door, Kal grabbed her hand.

"I haven't seen you in ten years, Diana, don't go yet."

It hadn't actually been a decade since they'd last seen each other. They'd attended Selina's funeral three years ago, but Diana had made sure to stay clear of her husband. Bruce was grieving, and he didn't need the two of them adding their own issues to the mournful day.

Where they touched, her skin sparked to life, a visceral reaction Diana couldn't deny.

"Let's talk for a bit more, not about Athos, the separation, or anything else that will send you fleeing this room and me."

"That doesn't leave us with much to talk about."

Kal smiled, and then tugged her closer. "We used to talk all the time, remember?"

She did.

Diana allowed Kal to pull her to her bed, then followed him down when he sat. It felt both strange and familiar to sit with Kal. Even when they shared the same dwelling, so much of their time and marriage was taken up by Athos. Hippolyta had once referred to him as "high maintenance and possessive," both of which were true. So that left precious little time for Diana and Kal to simply relax and talk about anything other than their son and his latest incident.

But this was dangerous, sitting beside Kal, an emotional minefield that threatened all of Diana's good sense. She couldn't go back to him, couldn't truly be with him again until things with Athos were once and for all settled. Then there was the secret. Diana hadn't forgotten about that.

"How about I start. I can tell you about my latest book, my most recent battle, or that crazy off-world mission I went on with J'onzz a month ago."

Diana had already read Kal's recent novel, and, as usual, he'd made it to the New York Times Bestsellers List.

Scooting back onto the bed, Diana laid down. A moment later, Kal followed, leaving a respectful distance between them.

The meager distance almost made Diana laugh. If a few inches were all that kept them apart, finding their way back to each other would be an easy battle indeed. But life was rarely that simple, and certainly theirs was more complex than most.

"Tell me about Superman's book tour."

Diana didn't have to look at her husband to sense the smile on his face. She'd given him a rare glimpse into the current state of her heart—a heart that beat and bled for him. _My strength and my weakness, just like our son._

* * *

"My daughter tells me you are to be my guest for a day or two. She also threatened to never speak to or see me again if I harmed one hair on your or Athos's head while she's away." Zeus snorted, not at all the dignified god he thought himself to be. "As if those threats weren't bad enough, she assured me that Zeke would indeed be my last child because she would…well, as little said about that the better."

Zeus moved to stand next to Kal at the viewing window. He didn't bother to look at his father-in-law. He could hear the scowl in his voice when he took in the same scene Kal did. On the other side of the one-way window-mirror was the cage Zeus kept Athos in. When he'd come to him ten years ago, seeking advice, he'd had no idea the snowball to Hell he'd set into play.

"Diana shouldn't be in there with him. But nothing I or her siblings say keeps her from going in and visiting him."

Kal agreed, but seeing his wife and son together, quietly talking in Athos's living room, reminded Kal of how easy it was to sometimes forget the vile creature Athos could be. When in Diana's presence, his son, his nearly thirty-year old son, could almost pass as normal, as the kind of guy people wanted to know and be around. But Athos had never been that, nor had he ever been able to maintain the façade with family and friends beyond a few hours at a time. Or, Kal amended, Athos was bright enough to accomplish what he wished, which meant he'd cared so little for the good opinion of others that he put forth the most minimal of efforts to be kind and polite.

"He's a rabid dog that needs to be put down."

Kal did look at his father-in-law then. Zeus, whom he hadn't seen in a decade, and was thousands of years old, appeared no older than thirty-five. Dark dreadlocked hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung to his mid-back. His white eyes sparkled as they stared back at Kal, the scowl he'd heard earlier firmly in place.

"Perhaps, but you won't touch him. I won't allow it."

An unimpressed bark of laughter followed Kal's very serious promise.

"You think because Diana is still fool enough to trust you, bringing you here to watch over that manipulative monster she birthed for you, that I won't kill you where you stand for speaking to me thus?"

Kal's fists balled, the ache to unleash his rage, frustration, and loneliness onto a being who could take it had him gritting his teeth and swallowing bile. Diana would be absolutely furious with him if he got into a fight with her father, no matter how provoking she knew the jerk to be.

A long brown finger came up and pointed at Athos. "He only lives because I vowed to never break Diana's heart again."

"If you had left her on Themyscria when she was thirteen, with her mother and where she belonged, you would've spared her years of pain."

"If you had kept your viral cock to yourself, you would've spared her even more pain. I may be a whore mongering bastard, Kal-El, but you're a sentimental coward. You want Diana, but you've let her stubbornness, false hope, and that man-beast prevent you from having what you want. She won't come back to you. It's too late."

"She will." He said that with far more confidence than he felt. But he and Diana had talked for nearly half an hour. He'd even made her laugh once. Slow progress, to be sure. Apparently, Diana's hopefulness was contagious.

"She'll never trust you again with her heart. She wants the truth, as much as she wants a cure for her son. One she can have, the other she'll have to learn to live without."

"You say that as if you want me to tell her the truth, like you actually give a damn about her marriage to me."

"You are an annoying Boy Scout I wish my daughter had never laid eyes upon. If I had known she'd end up with an alien who would give her a child that even gives Ares pause, I would've kept her here with me, where she would have been safe."

Mt. Olympus had been a gilded cage for Diana, so anxious was she to spread her wings when she'd first arrived in Washington, D.C. She'd been as green as Kal had been when he'd made the move from Smallville to Metropolis. Green, a bit wild, and the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She was still the most beautiful woman Kal had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Diana was bigger than Olympus, bigger than Themyscria. She didn't belong there, her wings clipped.

"Thinking about attacking me, Kryptonian?"

"I always am."

Loud, uproarious laughter. "If it wasn't for Athos, I could actually bring myself to like you. I don't, though. But I've lived long enough to know that I don't have to like someone to respect them."

Kal couldn't have heard the king of the gods correctly. The nicest thing he'd ever said to Kal had been, "It's not Olympus, but this Fortress isn't the alien hovel I thought it would be."

Zeus pointed again to Diana and Athos. "She isn't happy here. Hera called me an 'old fool' last week." He shrugged. "She's called me worse. While I take objection to the 'fool' part, I am indeed old, Kal-El. I've done much and seen even more. For my daughter's sake, I hope this trip will prove fruitful. If I believed that, however, it would indeed make me the fool my wife accused me of being."

This caring, fatherly side of Zeus was the reason Kal had come to him ten years ago, entrusting him with his secret, making an ally of the god of sky and weather. But Kal hadn't anticipated the extreme measure Zeus and Ares would take to protect Diana. In hindsight, he should've.

For long minutes, they didn't speak, each watching Diana and Athos. His son was so gaunt, just skin and bones, his shirt and pants too loose for his thin frame. No wonder Diana had found it so hard to forgive him, to take him back. Seeing Athos like this, his body frail and weak from lack of sunlight, had to be a daily reminder of his betrayal. And, in a way, it had been just that. But Kal had good reason for keeping what he'd figured out from Diana and plotting with her father. The truth of what Athos had done would've hurt Diana deeper than any pain she'd suffered at Kal or Zeus's hands. He couldn't do that to her. And, listening to Diana explain to Athos her planned absence, his hand in hers while they talked and walked, Athos's piercing blue eyes shining with something Kal didn't want to name, a tide of guilt washed over him.

Zeus was right. This entire sorry situation was his fault. Kal had come to terms with that long ago, but seeing his wife and son together while he watched on, an outsider, he knew he'd made the right decision. No way could Diana handle knowing the truth.

"You see the way he looks at his mother?"

Of course he did. But Kal wasn't ready to give voice to his observation. But, yeah, Kal had noticed, and he didn't like it one damn bit.

"That's not normal."

"So says the man who married and had children with his sister."

"You really do want me to kill you, Kryptonian. That's how things were done back then. The modern age is no longer so, so—"

"Incestuous," Kal finished for him, hating having uttered the word.

"Diana doesn't need Athos's kind of unnatural love. It has brought her nothing but pain. But she's her mother's daughter—honorable and blind, loving men she shouldn't."

Kal knew Zeus spoke of his affair with Hippolyta, which had been less than an honorable act for the both of them. And while Zeus couldn't care less about taking hundreds of women to bed during the course of his long marriage, Hippolyta had viewed her actions as dishonorable. But they had resulted in Diana, the only child the queen would ever bear.

"_Diana has brought me much happiness. I'm so proud of who she is and what she's become," _Hippolyta had said to Kal the day of his and Diana's renewal of vows for Hippolyta and Diana's sisters. _"But I fear Diana will not be able to say the same for her child. The Oracle has spoken, Kal." _She'd given him a grave look, then simply walked away. Yet she'd quickly donned a happy mask to replace the grim foreboding one when she found her daughter—Diana resplendent in a gold-and-white wedding dress, a three-year old Athos at her side.

"Does that sentiment also apply to me—a man you believe Diana should have never loved and taken as a husband, a consort?"

Kal watched as Athos gathered his mother in his arms for a farewell hug.

"Be safe, Mother. I'll be right here when you return."

"You have no talent for telling jokes, Athos."

He grinned at her, a little of the devil coming through. "Unfortunately, that has always been the case. But I will be here, in this prison of kryptonite and magic."

"Don't, Athos. Not now. I'm not in the mood for your malicious tongue. You know your father is on the other side of the barrier. If you have something to say to him, you'll get your chance. He'll be here for the next twenty-four hours. Kal will make sure no harm comes to you while I'm away."

Athos opened his mouth to protest, Kal assumed, but Diana raised her hand in a silencing gesture. "I said, _don't_."

Diana's tone brooked no argument, and Athos, smartly, closed his mouth, waving goodbye when she left the enclosure. Which, in truth, was a one-level apartment half the size of the Fortress, making Athos's prison a grand one indeed.

"That does indeed include you," Zeus answered, but Kal no longer cared about his response, not when Athos had turned to the window-mirror and waved at Kal, a sneer on his lips when he said, "Do come in, Father. Or are you afraid of a little kryptonite?"

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

**Earth-36**

**2044**

**Gotham**

Once, Bruce had found much solace in his cave. His deep, dark lair, filled with the latest Wayne technology, was as much a haven for Bruce Wayne as it was the base of operation for the infamous Batman. Countless hours and dollars had been spent in the realm of darkness and genius, creating an illusion of power, of strength, of enlightened superiority.

But age and experience had a way of cutting through the layers of well-honed bullshit of youth. Batman had always been a man—elusive, dangerous, and cunning. But still a man—vulnerable, fallible, mortal.

Now, as death approached and the end neared, Bruce held many regrets. He'd achieved much in his lifetime, doing the impossible and fighting the good fight—with heart, blood, sweat, and tears. But successes rarely came without a price, nor were all battles absolute victories. He'd lived and worked in the shadows, black his signature color, but life . . . his life was full of shades of gray.

Bruce despised the ashen color. The ambiguity of it all set his teeth to grinding, his mind to wandering, and his heart to questioning. Bruce reveled in a good question any day, but he most enjoyed a simple, straight-forward, and logical answer.

Yet life had never been simple, straight-forward, and logical. No, it was filled with annoying shades of gray, complicating Bruce's life and bringing chaos and disorder.

But from an amalgam of childhood wishes and destroyed dreams had come two people who befriended and challenged Bruce Wayne and Batman. Their powers were intimidating and awe-inspiring. But it was their pure hearts that defied reason, so much so Bruce had once doubted them, knowing . . . fearing that one day humanity would be forced to kneel under the boot and might of Superman and Wonder Woman.

If today wasn't such a depressing day, Bruce would muster up a laugh for the paranoid, distrustful man he'd once been. Well, to be honest, Bruce hadn't relinquished his paranoia, but he had learned to trust. Selina, Diana, and Clark had helped him with that—loyal and forgiving even when he was being the worst kind of bastard.

Their friendship and love had been precious to him, and he returned the affection full measure. Admittedly, his display of both was subtle and often unorthodox, but it was the way of Bruce Wayne, of Batman. He did what he thought was right, which didn't always make his decisions and actions popular. Age hadn't changed that about Bruce.

So he now found himself, watching Diana as she stared at the device he'd handed her.

"It looks like a watch." For the tenth time, she shook the device. He had no idea what she thought would happen if she kept shaking it. "What is it made of?"

"Does it matter, Diana? It works. It will take you to Earth Prime."

"No, Bruce, it really doesn't matter what it's made of." She lifted those beautiful blue eyes of hers and stared at him, questioning and concerned. "But the thought of time and space travel is a bit disconcerting. I want to know that I will not only arrive where and when I'm supposed to but that this thing will return me home safely when I'm ready to leave."

"It will do all of those things."

Bruce held Diana's penetrating gaze. Despite what many thought about Batman, maintaining eye contact with a demigod intent on discerning truth from lies wasn't easy. Diana had always been wise beyond her years and perceptive in a way that came with being the daughter of a god king and an Amazon queen. However, in this, Bruce told only the truth. There was no deception to be found within him.

"You've tested it, I assume."

"Of course." _Many, many times. More than anyone, including Madame Xanadu, will ever know. _"I'm not using you as a lab rat, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm concerned about a great many things."

Bruce knew that. Despite having retreated to Mount Olympus after Zeus's imprisonment of her son, Diana had maintained her humanitarian efforts, having given up the role of Wonder Woman after her mother's untimely death. When she wasn't watching over that Hell spawn of hers or fulfilling her duties as Queen of the Amazons, Diana was all over the globe, aiding anyone from small farmers to negotiating peace talks between warring nations and tribes. For many, she was still Wonder Woman, a beacon of justice, peace, and hope.

But she was also a tortured mother. Diana held out hope for a son who would never be deserving of her. It was foolish hope, Bruce knew. Yet he and Selina had never had a child of their own. They had tried and hoped and failed. Perhaps if they had conceived a child together, if Bruce had been given the opportunity to watch his wife's belly grow fat and round from their child, and watch her push him or her into this gray world, he would view parenthood differently, be more understanding, more sympathetic.

But he hadn't. He wasn't. Athos was a bomb ticking down to D-day. He had all of his parents' powers but none of their goodness, none of their control, none of their light.

Diana walked away from him, her brows furrowing as she stared at the inter-dimensional device. "You shouldn't be this smart, Bruce. This gadget is brilliant yet dangerous. When I came to this world, I remember seeing a slogan that made little sense to me." She stopped her pacing, and their eyes met. 'Guns don't kill people, people do.'"

Diana strapped the silver device onto her right wrist—the same spot where she'd once worn her famed bullet-blocking bracers.

"I understood the message, but it was skewed and misleading. People do indeed kill people. That has always been the case, the way of men and women, as well as gods. But guns allow people to take killing to an art form, doing so much more damage than individuals could do if they didn't have access to such weapons."

"It's how people choose to use the weapon, Diana, for ill or for good. Like that sword you used to wear strapped to your thigh."

"Swords are meant for hurting, for killing, Bruce, make no mistake about that. No matter the intention of the wielder, the purpose of a sword is to do harm."

"I didn't build the device to do harm. It's not a weapon."

Diana arched an eyebrow, regal and stunningly powerful. She was such a gorgeous woman, Bruce unashamed to admit that he'd once been jealous of Clark. In truth, he still was. Selina was gone but Diana remained—a happy future with Clark still possible.

"In the wrong hands, it is indeed a weapon. You know the truth of my words, Bruce, so cease pretending otherwise." She stepped closer to him, a lightning storm of demigod power tracking her. "How have you used it? As a mere inter-dimensional device or as a weapon?"

Both. God help him, he had used it as a weapon. He had done the right thing he told himself then and repeated it to himself now. Yes, he had done the right thing, the only decision worth making. He'd tried other strategies first, but none of them had worked - the impact fleeting and inconsequential in the time-space continuum. His dreams had remained unchanged. And Xanadu's readings did as well. So he'd done the unthinkable, interfered in a way he'd promised the fortune-telling mystic he never would.

Squaring his shoulders, Bruce looked Diana straight in her eyes . . . and lied. "For good, Diana. I traveled to those other Earths to retrieve information on their Clark and Diana. I won't say that I did it for Athos, because you know that is a lie. And, honestly, a part of me still thinks your son is beyond help. But I'm man enough to admit that I may be mistaken."

"Don't lie to me, Bruce."

"I'm not. What I did all those years ago was wrong. I was scared and thought Athos was an imminent threat to humanity."

"You tried to kill my son under the guise of helping him—an operation that hid your true motive."

Bruce would've succeeded if Clark hadn't detected the sudden drop in his son's heart rate, the shard of kryptonite embedded in his heart and Bruce waiting for the organ to heal with the poison inside. But Clark had come bursting into the Fortresses' makeshift operating room, literally catching Bruce with his hands in his son's open chest, kryptonite glowing green with a friend's betrayal. At that moment, Bruce truly feared what Clark would do to him. His eyes had boiled with red rage, and when he came to his son's aide, he'd smacked Bruce aside and against a far wall, breaking an arm, shoulder, and three ribs. A second later, Clark had used his heat vision to cut his son's quickly healing heart open and retrieve the kryptonite, uncaring of the effect on him.

"_Get out!"_ Superman had bellowed, the mild mannered Clark Kent nowhere to be found. "Get the hell out of my home and never return or so help me . . ."

Dragging himself off of the floor and past a shocked and confused Diana, who stood in the doorway, Bruce left, his friendship with Clark and Diana in shatters. Athos, dammit, still alive.

Bruce wished he could retreat into the familiar cool comfort of his cave. But Diana's presence in his lair, eyes and mind distrustful but her heart full of a mother's blind hope, galvanized him. Despite it all, Diana was his friend, and he loved her as much as the Batman could love anyone. He was lying to her, using her. And though it was for the greater good, Bruce did have a conscience, which gnawed away at his soul with each deception he wrapped himself in.

"I know you don't fully trust me, Diana. And you have every right not to. As a mother, you want to protect your son, from others, from himself." Running a hand through gray hair, Bruce sighed with unfeigned exhaustion. "As I said before, there may be no help for Athos. A bone marrow transplant may do nothing but get everyone's hopes up but yield nothing in the long run. All of this will likely turn out to be a waste of time."

"Then why?" Diana raised her arm. "Why bring me here, give me this?"

"Because I'm dying. Because I don't wish to take my last breath knowing you and Clark hate me. Knowing I've earned every bit of your loathing."

A calculated truth aimed at the Amazon's sensitive underbelly. Ruthless, he knew, but the more they talked, the more skeptical Diana became of his plan. And a skeptical Diana made for a worthy and dangerous foe.

Hardened blue eyes of a second ago softened into dewy petals of worry. "You do that very well." Diana wiped at her eyes. "I could never hate you, but we will never again be friends. I know there is more to this mission than you've told me or Clark. And if you asked me to bring anyone other than a Clark and a Diana back here, I would tell you to go to Hades." Diana reached for and took the other two devices from Bruce's hand, fisting them into her own. "But I can't imagine Clark and Diana, regardless of the Earth they are from, would pose a danger to my son, least of all try to kill him, the way that you did."

Diana stuffed the other two devices into the overnight bag she'd tossed onto a black leather chair when she'd arrived at the Batcave.

"But if they are evil, Bruce, or are in any way of questionable moral character, I will not bring them back here."

Bruce knew that. But he also knew something about the Diana of Earth Prime that Diana did not. And it was this knowledge, the difference between Earth Prime's Diana and the others, including this Diana, that would make all the difference. _I hope._

"They are of good moral character. Whatever test you have in mind, I'm sure they will pass."

Taking hold of her bag, she slung the strap over a shoulder. "Unlike you, I don't believe in testing people. Normally a straight-forward conversation is all that is required."

Not for many people, but yes, for Clark Kent and Diana of Themyscira, of Earth Prime, a straight-forward conversation would probably work.

_And Wonder Woman will use her lasso on Diana. That should prove sufficient evidence for the young superheroes. Along with Diana's story of Athos, her open, honorable demeanor should be enough to convince Wonder Woman and Superman that their services are required on Earth-36._

But there was a significant uncontrollable aspect to Bruce's plan—one he could do nothing about. Well, he just hoped Diana would keep the conversation about business and not become too quizzical and begin asking questions of the couple. He didn't think she would. Diana was a private woman and tended to respect the privacy of others. Still, there was that unknown factor that set Bruce on edge.

"I'm sure a rational conversation will work. Would it have worked on you when you were their age?"

"You know it would have, which is why you're so confident they will return with me. But, as you said, we are not mirror images of each other. There will be differences, I'm sure. And those differences will likely factor into their decision."

He'd considered that as well. But Bruce, as Diana had said, was confident.

"Are you ready to go?"

Diana had come dressed for the occasion, wearing dark-blue dress pants, a white silk blouse, and high heels. Today, Diana looked less like the demigoddess she was and more like a business woman, her long raven hair pulled back into an elegant braid that fell past her bottom.

"I'm ready."

"Do you need me to go over how to use the device again?"

"No, Bruce. The first five times were quite enough. Stop micromanaging me and step back so I can proceed with this mission. I understand how to use this weapon of yours perfectly."

To prove her point, Diana readjusted the bag on her shoulder, hit a sequence of buttons on the device, and then gave him an arrogant smile and nod. In a matter of tense seconds, her form dimmed, faded, and then disappeared.

Bruce nearly fell into his chair. He had done it. Convincing Diana of his plan and not having Clark skewer him alive had been a Herculean effort. They were no dimwitted amateurs-just the opposite in fact. But they had their points of weakness, easily exploited by someone who knew them well.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Bruce turned to his battery of computer screens. But they held little interest this night, scenes of natural disasters and human depravity in HD the world over.

He groped for the phone and hit a single button. Three rings later, a woman answered. No pleasantries were required, so Bruce gave none.

"Diana is on her way to Earth Prime. Make sure you're ready for their return. We'll have a lot of explaining to do, and we'll only get once chance to make our case."

* * *

**Earth-44**

**2018**

**Mount Olympus**

Eris sat on the edge of the viewing pool, her dark eyes cast down to the sleeping toddler. He was a reed of a boy, unimpressive to look upon, except, of course, when the child was awake and running wild in Hephaestus's forge. Then, well, then the boy was a sight to behold—rambunctious and full of energy and mischief.

Ordinarily, Eris wouldn't waste a second of her precious time spying on the Smith and his motley crew of rescued orphans, or even give two figs about a pale child with shaggy black hair and big blue eyes. But there was something about the boy's blue eyes that resonated with the goddess of chaos, strife, and discord.

_Something interesting. Something familial and delicious._

Taking a sip from her glass of red wine, Eris smiled—wicked and curious. Perhaps she would pop in on dear ole Heph, see how things were going for him in the belly of Mount Etna. And maybe, just maybe, she could get a closer, better look at the child.

"What are you doing?"

Eris didn't bother turning to acknowledge Apollo. The King of Olympus would come nearer if he truly cared to see upon which she gazed.

A minute later, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a crimson shirt, the sun god approached and peered over her shoulder.

"What do you know of the boy, Apollo?"

He moved to stand beside her.

"What I know is that the child is none of your concern." With an imperious wave of a manicured hand, Apollo cleared the image before them, leaving behind boring ripples where the black haired, blue eyed child had been.

"He can't be older than three or four. I thought Hippolyta had put an end to trading male Amazons for weapons from our brother."

"She did."

"So where did Hephaestus get the child? While Aphrodite may have consented once upon a drunken time to lie with her husband, bearing him Eros, I doubt if she's continued to share her godly 'love' with Hephaestus."

Apollo glared at her, giving Eris a pointed, threatening look.

She knew it well. Apollo thought himself above reproach. He wasn't. He'd gained the throne through cunning and manipulation, casting Hera out and removing her godhood after Zeus had disappeared.

"Who Aphrodite chooses to take to her bed is also none of your affair."

Eris tipped her glass to her brother, a mocking salute. "Affair, an interesting word choice coming from you. Being king must be nice, especially the feminine perks. But I must say, Apollo, one would think with all the women in the world you could find someone other than your sister-in-law to bask in the rays of your impressive sun." Eris shrugged and took another sip of wine. "Well, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt with the impressive part. You know, a god's ego and all that."

"You do try my patience. But the sun is as much a part of the world as chaos is, which I normally appreciate." Apollo glanced at the still waters of the viewing pool then back to Eris. "But I want no chaos surrounding that child. Leave him to Hephaestus. Mount Etna is the best place for him."

"Who are his parents?"

Eris didn't think her brother would answer. And, for long minutes, he didn't.

With another wave of his hand, the pool came to life once more. But it no longer revealed the sleeping form of a child after a long day of play and anarchy. Instead, it showed Superman and Wonder Woman. They were engaged in a battle, fighting winged dragon-like creatures with midnight eyes, bulbous skin, and fire breath.

_Diana. Little sister._

Eris suppressed her glee. This was perfect, absolutely perfect.

"If not for the two of them, Olympus would be under the brutal rule of the First Born. He had every intention of killing the lot of us. They helped me stop him. We are in their debt, though they've asked for nothing but to be left alone. I will honor that request, even for the alien trash Diana has taken as her consort. I'm telling you this because I want to make myself clear. Do. Nothing. No chaos. No discord. No strife."

Without waiting for a reply and clearly assuming her compliance, Apollo disappeared, leaving Eris alone with her scheming mind.

Eris frowned. Apollo had been serious about not interfering in Diana's life, and it was never a good idea to directly contradict a king's edict. This Eris knew and understood. But there were ways of getting around Apollo and his commands. It only required time and thought. As a goddess, Eris had nothing but time.

And so did the child. He was but a scrawny boy now, too young to make any plan she'd come up with work. Yet all children grew. Eris would bide her time.

And watch.

And learn all there was to know about Hephaestus's little ward.

Eris' frown morphed into a radiant smile. She remembered. Yes, she remembered that Diana had once been pregnant. Four or five years ago, she guessed. But the child had been stillborn, or so Hippolyta had reported to the Amazons and Superman to his friends at the Justice League.

_Yet their child lives. How scrumptious._

Diana didn't have a deceptive bone in her holier than thou body, which meant only one thing. _She thinks her son is dead. Her mother and husband lied to her. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better._

Eris finished off the remnants of the wine in her glass, and then pushed to her bare feet, legs long and thin.

Thirty seconds later, she was in a dark room, lit only by a dim nightlight.

She strolled to the twin bed pushed against a wall. The boy no longer slept, however. His blue eyes were open and staring directly at her.

And it was there, in the child's glacial gaze. Close up, Eris could see the truth of things. No wonder Hippolyta and Superman had banished the boy to Mount Etna. For a second, she questioned the sanity of her plot, her desire to seek revenge. The Kryptonian alien had the audacity to spurn Eris's advances, choosing Diana over her. As if a demi-anything was better than a full-god. Diana of Themyscria, the half-breed, was nothing compared to Eris. Yet everyone invariably fell for the Amazon's "charms," including Hera and Apollo.

Eris dropped to her knees beside the bed.

"Hi, I'm Auntie Eris, your mommy's big sister."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** An anonymous reviewer left a comment about this story being confusing. With four Earths, I can see how that may be the case for some readers. The reviewer also suggested labeling each Earth to reduce the confusion. Well, I've done that with every chapter, and every section within a chapter. This story would be confusing indeed without letting the reader know which Earth I'm dealing with. So, yeah, it's critical to pay attention to all the headings, as well as the details from each set of Clarks and Dianas. Please do not make the assumption that the Earths are identical. They are not, and I've tried to depict significant ways in which they are different, although the core of who and what Diana and Clark are remains the same regardless of the Earth. Now, onto chapter seven.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

**Earth-16**

**2027**

**Fortress of Solitude**

"You look stunning." Strong arms found Diana's waist and wicked lips her nape, her collarbone, her ear. "If it weren't our anniversary and Bruce and Selina hadn't already arrived, I would peel that sexy black dress off of you, lock the door, and spend the night worshipping your body."

She shivered, not from the arctic air but her husband's words, his sensual intent. The knowledge that Clark still found her desirable after fourteen years of marriage had Diana leaning into his touch even more, reveling in his exquisite mouth and exploring hands.

"That sounds—_mmm_—tempting." Diana's head fell backward onto Clark's shoulder. His lips and tongue devoured her, sending flames of wanton heat everywhere they touched.

A large, masculine hand found a breast, a nipple, and began to stroke, to play, to create erotic sensations within Diana that had her moaning and grinding against the growing bulge pressing into her backside.

"Athos and the others are in the living room." A lick to the shell of her ear. "They'll never know. They'll just think we're still getting ready for our anniversary outing. Come on, Diana, what do you say?"

The way her husband kept caressing and squeezing her breasts, drawing nipples to an aching, needy point, he didn't leave her much breath for speaking. So she let her body do the talking for her. Turning, Diana grabbed Clark's face and brought his mouth to hers—hungry and desperate to taste him.

And—_yes_—he tasted of ambrosia - sweet and succulent. And Clark wore way too many clothes. A perfectly cut black suit with a crisp white shirt and black-and-white print design tie were indeed far too many clothes for Diana's liking. Naked, yes, she wanted the man naked and on their bed, begging her to do all manner of naughty things to him.

But they didn't have time for that level of intimacy. _Quickie. _Yes, that's all that time afforded them. Athos may be fooled when they failed to return in a reasonable time, but Bruce and Selina would not.

Clark deepened the kiss before walking forward until Diana's back came flush against a wall. He pinned her there, his massive body a steady, pulsing weight of manly arousal and need.

Tongues twined, hands roamed, and hips teased the mating dance. But they were still fully dressed, dammit.

Without breaking the luscious kiss, Diana snaked a hand down Clark's chest and to his black leather belt. Once there, she undid it, and then the button and zipper of his pants. Slipping a hand inside his boxers, Diana found hard, masculine flesh waiting for her.

She held it, stroked.

He tore his mouth from hers, moaned. Then Clark was reaching for her silk dress, pushing it up and out of his way. Deft fingers located her panties and throbbing wet center.

He stroked—once, twice, three times.

Diana picked up the rhythm of her own stroking. They would take each other to the brink with their hands, leaving each other breathless and wanting immediate release, which was when Clark would enter her, pushing them over the edge of desire together.

But Diana was already so damn close, Clark's fingers deep inside, his mouth sucking her neck with an intensity just shy of marking.

She squeezed him harder, stroked him even faster, wanting Clark right where he'd already taken her.

With a husky groan Diana knew well, Clark ripped off Diana's panties, lifted a leg onto his hip, and drove inside of her—fierce and utterly resplendent.

Hard. Fast. Thrusts.

Hard. Fast. Thrusts.

Hard. Fast. Thrusts.

_Yes. Yes. Yes!_

"That's it. Ah, shit, that's good, honey. So fucking good. You're going to make me—"

Come.

He did—hard, grinding penetration.

So did Diana—long, trembling spasms.

Slow, deep breaths.

Slow, deep breaths.

Slow, deep—

_Squeak._

Eyes Diana hadn't known were closed, flew open. For a second, her vision was blurry, the aftereffects of her orgasm still cascading through her. But there, over Clark's shoulder and standing in a now open bedroom door, was Athos—eyes wide, body rigid, and mouth set in anger? Irritation? Disapproval?

Diana lowered her leg, allowing her dress to do the same. Clark, however, was still out of it. His sweaty forehead rested on her shoulder.

She turned her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Athos is in our doorway."

Just as low as she'd spoken to him, Clark swore, then began to fumble, stuffing himself inside his pants with a jerky quickness that looked painful.

Athos stared on, one of his hands still on the doorknob, the other balled and at his side.

He was definitely upset, there was no mistaking the unsettled emotion in his eyes.

She was mortified. Diana and Clark had almost been caught countless times by Athos, over the years. But Clark's superior hearing and a typically locked bedroom door had always saved them. _Not this time, dammit._

"Athos," Clark said, spinning to face the boy, his face a mask for the embarrassment Diana knew him to be feeling. "Umm, what have we told you about knocking before entering?"

For a second Athos didn't speak, just continued to glare at his father, as if Clark had committed some terrible crime against humanity.

Diana hadn't seen this side of Athos in two years. Since turning eleven, Athos had finally begun to show signs of being able to control his temper, the tempest Diana knew raged within the boy. Over the last six months, especially, he'd displayed restraint that had impressed Diana and Clark. The past two years had been surprising and wonderful.

After Athos's expulsion, the family began spending more time at the Fortress, with Diana and Clark homeschooling Athos and working only part-time with the Justice League. It was hard going at first, Athos resentful of his isolation and the rigid structures Diana and Clark had put in place about the use of his powers. With time, however, the three had settled into a routine of teaching and learning. To break up the monotony of having only Clark and Diana as Athos's teachers, they asked their friends to also serve as instructors to Athos, all of whom were experts in many different fields.

Even now, Diana wasn't sure if broadening his emotional and intellectual base of support was what started Athos on the road to enlightenment and self-control. But he had made tremendous strides, and Diana was so very proud of him. Yet the way his eyes held his father's, Diana sensed an internal wall crumbling.

For as much as Athos had changed over the last two years, smiling and laughing in a way Diana cherished, Athos was no less possessive of her, no less emotionally needy and covetous of her time and attention than he had been five years ago.

"Uncle Bruce," Athos began, his voice uncharacteristically gravelly and low, "told me to come and see what was taking you and Mother so long." If possible, the eyes that bored into Clark hardened. "I did knock. Twice. But no one answered."

"Which meant you should've continued to knock until we did answer. Look, son, I'm sorry . . . It's just . . . well." Clark scratched the back of his head, clearly searching for the right words to smooth out this very awkward situation. "Athos, you're thirteen going on thirty. You're old enough to know what happens between married couples behind a closed bedroom door, which is why we always tell you to knock and respect our privacy."

"If I'm old enough to know about sex, then I'm old enough to be left by myself while you guys are gone for a few hours. I don't need babysitters. Besides, Krypto is here."

"We'll be gone overnight, Athos. Even with Krypto here, your mother and I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone overnight."

"Because you don't trust me. You still don't trust me to do the right thing, even after I've worked my butt off to prove to everyone that I'm not a monster. You still don't trust me."

This situation was deteriorating quicker than Flash could run. Diana wanted to intervene, to say something to deescalate the situation and to alter the crestfallen and betrayed look in Athos's sad blue eyes. But the truth was that she and Clark simply did not trust Athos enough to leave him unattended, despite that he was of legal age to stay at home by himself.

"You're too young to be without a guardian overnight, Athos, just as your father said. An adult must be here with you. And trust, son, is earned as much as it is given. You have earned our trust, but trust is also not absolute or given without caution."

"You're a powerful boy," Clark said, easily picking up Diana's train of thought. "Your body is changing in a way unlike anyone else on the planet. Even without the Doomsday virus in you, going through puberty with Kryptonian, human, and god genes can't be easy. You could hurt yourself or someone else without even trying. That's part of the reason why I've been taking you on humanitarian missions with me. I want you to not only see how much good you can do with your powers but how to control them in real-life situations."

As Clark spoke, he'd walked closer to Athos, stopping once he reached his son. Now, Clark stared down at Athos, a tall teen of five eight with thin, broad shoulders that would take years to fully fill in. But once they did, once his weight matched his tall frame, Athos would be as wide as his father, perhaps even a bit taller, too.

"You have to be patient, son. Everything comes with time. It took me years to get my mind and body to work as a team, and I didn't have anyone who knew what I was going through, who understood." A fatherly hand rose and settled onto Athos's shoulder. "That is not the case for you. Your mother and I have been there, and let me tell you, there will always be times when people don't trust you. Worst are times when you can't trust yourself. But know this, Athos, we are very proud of you, proud of the man you are trying to become."

Diana didn't think she could love her husband any more than she did at this very moment. Clark was such a good father, kind and patient. The same way he had been with her when he'd asked Diana to marry him and she'd refused. She'd just told him of her pregnancy and he'd blurted, "I guess that means we need to marry."

Not exactly a romantic proposal. And while Diana had never been one of those girls who'd dreamed of getting married or having a Prince Charming sweep her off her feet, she hadn't liked the idea of Clark marry her out of duty instead of love. But with each proposal, four in total, he'd convinced Diana that deep love and affection would come in time, because the seeds for both were already between them. "You know I love you," Clark had said, the opening to his fourth proposal. "You also know how much family means to me. I've overheard people say that we are not enough alike to last, that we have little in common and lack chemistry, while I've heard others say we are so much alike that we are the most boring, predictable couple on the planet." He'd laughed then. "Everybody think they know us, think they get what there is between us and who we should be with. But they know nothing. It's not for them to get us, just as long as we do."

Clark held her hand as he dropped to one knee. Diana had actually seen this in a movie Zola had dragged her to. At the time, Diana had thought the hero a pathetic weakling, prostrating himself before the heroine, the female shedding tears that were clearly fabricated to heighten the emotional intensity of the movie moment. Diana had scoffed and rolled her eyes at the over the top display of affection. Men didn't do such things, and women couldn't possibly be so easily swayed that they would fall for such a romance novel cliché.

Yet when Clark had stared up at Diana from his bent knee, eyes sincere and full of love, her heart began to race and tears threatened to undo her.

"The first time I asked you to marry me, it was for the sake of our child. The second time it was for you, to give you what Zeus never offered Hippolyta. The third time was for me, a wife and child to replace two sets of lost parents. This time, I offer marriage for all of those other reasons. More importantly, I offer simply because I can't imagine my life without you. I love you, Diana, and I hope my love is reason enough."

It was indeed reason enough, the only reason Diana ever required. It was soon, probably too soon to contemplate marriage. But there was a child to consider . . .

From somewhere, Clark had pulled out a diamond ring and held it up. "Diana of Themyscria, daughter of Hippolyta and Zeus, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife, of bonding your heart to mine, your soul to mine, your life to mine?"

Tears fell, and so did all of Diana's defenses. A month later, on Paradise Island, they were married. Six months after that, Athos came screaming into the world. Now, fourteen years later, Clark and Diana were happily married, raising a son who had the power to become a great hero or a tortured villain.

But, as Athos had said, he'd worked hard these past two years. Slowly but surely, Diana was beginning to believe that all with Athos would be well.

"You're proud of me?" Athos asked, true disbelief in his voice.

"Of course I'm proud, son. You're fighting something that's deep inside of you, something that you could so easily give into. But you're not, you haven't. That makes me prouder than you could ever know."

When Clark raised his other hand and hugged Athos, the boy's eyes wilted and closed, though he did not return the embrace. And that was the way with Clark and Athos, the father far more open with his affections than the son. But there was great emotion in Athos, his love for his father nearly as strong as his jealousy of him.

Clark released Athos and stepped back. "Tell Uncle Bruce that Diana and I will be out in a minute."

Without a word, Athos left.

Clark turned back to Diana. "Imagine if we had more than one of him, we would never have a moment of privacy."

It was said as a joke, but there was nothing more that Clark and Diana wanted than another child. Once they'd thought that option closed to them. But with how well Athos was progressing in his ability to control his temper and powers, they might have to reconsider their decision to not have more children.

"True, but why didn't you hear him before he reached our door?"

"For the same reason you didn't hear him knock."

Diana blushed. Point taken.

Too-interested eyes glided down her body then back to her face. Clark visibly shook himself. "I'll leave so you can get clean and put on a different dress."

Diana knew she would have to change, her nice, new dress now smelled of sex and was wrinkled to an inch of its life.

"You go, and I'll be out in five."

Clark went, taking one last look at her and saying, "Don't bother with underwear this time."

"Are you going to at least feed me first, Mr. Kent?"

His smile was all Kryptonian devilment. "Maybe. If you let me eat you first, Mrs. Kent."

At her jaw-dropping expression, Clark closed the door, his laughter following him down the hall.

The man was unbelievable.

When Cyborg teleported them to their Tahitian beach house, Diana wore a red strapless dress and no panties.

* * *

**Earth Prime**

**2014**

**Metropolis**

Diana had no idea what had happened to her body. One minute she felt as solid as granite, the next her body was torn into a million molecules, pulled along a dimensional highway at a cataclysmic speed. She had no idea how long she traveled, body broken down into neutrons, protons, and electrons and held together by nothing Diana could name.

Then she was yanked to a crashing halt, fragments of her body colliding into each other and knitting themselves back together. A tapestry of molecules, blood, bones, skin, and hair came together, reforming her from the inside out, one organ and limb at a time. The process could've taken hours or merely seconds, but one thing was for sure, it hurt like the fires of Hades.

"Young lady, are you all right?"

Was she all right? Diana didn't know. She wasn't even sure if she'd reached her destination or whether she was still in Bruce's man cave. But that voice, masculine as it was, didn't belong to Bruce Wayne.

A gentle hand came to her shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down. There is a bench at the bus stop just a few feet away. If you can walk, I'll help you reach it."

The voice was that of a kind soul, Diana didn't have to open her eyes to know the truth of her assessment. But her eyes were closed. Not only that, she was leaning against what felt like a brick building, breathing heavily, body shaking.

Diana opened her eyes, lids heavy in a way they'd never been before. And there, an elderly man no taller than five feet five stood in front of her, brown orbs warm and concerned.

"Come with me." Linking an arm through Diana's, the man escorted her to the bench, Diana's rubbery legs barely holding her weight. "That's right. Sit here and drink this." He handed her an unopened bottle of water from a plastic bag. "Drink up. You look like you need it more than I do."

Grateful, Diana opened the bottle and drank deeply. The cool water refreshed her, as did the minutes she sat on the bench, the man wise enough to know when silence was better than speech.

Once she finished off the last of the water, the nice man reclaimed the bottle and tossed it back into his plastic bag.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better. Thank you. You're very kind."

The man smiled. "I'm no Superman, but I do what I can."

Superman? Did that mean she'd made it?

Diana began to look around, finally taking in her surroundings. Sure enough, she recognized downtown Metropolis. But did that mean she was in the right place, the right time?

"What's the day?"

"Friday, my dear."

When she left her time, it had been a Friday as well.

"Day, month, and year?"

His frown told her the man thought she'd bumped her head, but he answered all the same.

Diana nodded. She was in the right place and time. Bruce's little device had taken her precisely where she needed to be and when.

So this was Earth Prime thirty years ago. Diana breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute, she thought she would die, the time-space travel wreaking havoc on her body. But now she was here, and had a job to do.

"Thank you again for your kindness. You may request a boon from me."

The man's frown returned, and Diana didn't understand why. Then she remembered that she was not at home. When the older man looked at her, he did not see a demigoddess capable of granting him wishes or even Wonder Woman, an identity Diana had long since abandoned.

"I mean is there some way I can repay your thoughtfulness?"

"Consider it a random act of kindness, young lady. I saw a pretty woman in need of help, and I was here. I'm sure you would have done the same for me."

Of course she would have, but the man had no way of truly knowing that.

"You, sir, are as super as any hero." Diana leaned over and kissed the man's weathered cheek. "Thank you." She stood. "I have to go now."

Walking back to the spot where she'd been, Diana retrieved her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. Waving at the man who stared after her with those gentle brown eyes of his, Diana took to the skies, hearing him gasp in her wake.

The abrupt elevation had her eyes burning with pain and her head aching. Perhaps she should've waited a bit longer, given herself more time to recuperate. But time was at a premium. She didn't want to be here any longer than necessary.

Thousands of meters above Metropolis, Diana stopped. Bruce thought Diana should first speak with Superman, which was why she'd coded Metropolis's coordinates into the device. Now Diana wondered if she should try and find Wonder Woman first. That would require her flying to London. And that's assuming she was even there. Or maybe Wonder Woman was on Themyscria. _Visiting her mother._

The thought of seeing if this time's Hippolyta still lived, was a near uncontrollable draw to the island. But Diana couldn't go there. It would be hard enough explaining a second Diana to Wonder Woman, no less to Hippolyta and her Amazon warriors. Besides, Diana didn't think she could take seeing her mother in the flesh. _No, not your mother, Wonder Woman's mother. Your own died, remember?_

Yes, she remembered, which meant she would avoid Paradise Island unless that was the only way to talk with Wonder Woman. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, but was prepared to cross that bridge if she must. Which left the original plan of making first contact with Superman.

Earth Prime's Superman lived in the same apartment as Kal had thirty years ago, when her husband still went by the name of Clark Kent. She knew the place and neighborhood well, so much time did Diana spend with Kal in his Metropolis apartment. He'd even given her a key, a symbolic, romantic gesture she hadn't fully understood at the time.

Taking a few deep breaths, Diana turned in the direction of Superman's apartment, hoping he would be at home.

Five minutes later, she stood in front of his door, fist raised and prepared to knock.

"It's unlocked, come on in."

Shocked, but not surprised he'd heard her, Diana lowered her hand to the doorknob, turned, and opened the door.

She entered the apartment, closing the door behind her. It was literally like stepping back in time. Surreal wasn't a strong enough word to describe how being here made Diana feel. Sure, the Metropolis of 2014 felt like she was caught in an old movie, but being in Superman's apartment reminded Diana of her youth and falling in love with an equally young Clark Kent. But this man, the owner of the apartment that was identical to Kal's, even down to the books on the shelves and Ma Kent's crocheted blanket on the back of the sofa, was not her Kal. He was a stranger, and Diana would do well to remember that fact.

"I didn't expect you for another thirty minutes," came a familiar voice from the bathroom.

This was good, very good. Diana could not have planned the timing any better. Wonder Woman would be here soon, which meant she could explain her situation to them at the same time.

"I was surprised you called me today. I know you've been busy the last couple of weeks, so I was really glad to hear from you."

The bathroom door opened and out came Superman, a cloud of steam surrounding him. By all that was divine, this world's Superman could've been a doppelganger for her husband.

Same build.

Same height.

Same dark hair and blue eyes.

Same disarming smile.

And, for Hera's sake, he wore nothing but a too-fitting towel around his lean waist.

Diana couldn't move, not even when Superman approached, chest bare, beautiful, and still moist from his shower. The resemblance was too uncanny to ignore, too overwhelming not to give her pause. But when he hauled her up against him, his body hard all over, smelling of the same shaving cream Kal used to use, Diana snapped out of it.

This man, who wore the handsome face of her beloved, was not her husband. Even pressed against a rather impressive body, Diana felt nothing more than passing recognition of Superman's undeniable attractiveness. But his nearness didn't send her heart a flutter and her body aching the way being near Kal did.

She raised her hands and held them to his chest, not pushing but just enough to deny him the kiss he was about to give her. This was already an odd predicament she found herself in. She wouldn't allow Superman to make it worse by kissing the woman who clearly looked just like his Wonder Woman.

"We need to talk."

"So serious, Diana. Sure, we can talk."

His playful, foreplay tone told her he was thinking of doing all their talking in the bedroom. In that respect, he was also like Kal.

"We need to—"

The hands that had been at rest on her hips just slid down to her backside, where Superman was beginning a sexual caress that would have him on his own backside if he didn't stop and listen to her.

"Look at me."

"I am."

He wasn't. He was looking through her shirt and taking liberties she'd only ever granted to one man. Diana tried not to blame him, tried very hard not to send his horny Kryptonian ass through the wall.

Taking his face in her hands, she forced his head up until their eyes met.

"No, _really_ look at me, Superman."

He did.

Diana could see precisely when he knew the woman he held in his arms, hands splayed on her bottom, wasn't the woman he'd been expecting.

He began to sputter something. A question? An apology?

Diana would never know, because, of course, Wonder Woman took that time to arrive. A soft click was all Diana heard to know her own doppelganger had just entered the apartment.

Immediately, Superman's hands fell away and he stepped away from her, a guilty blush staining his face.

"Umm, Diana, I can explain. This isn't what it looks like."

True, the scene wasn't at all how it appeared. But no, Superman wasn't the one who needed to do the explaining, nor could he.

Diana turned, and met the blue, heated eyes of her double.

* * *

**Earth-16**

**2027**

**Fortress of Solitude**

Athos wasn't asleep, although he'd gone to bed three hours ago. He kept replaying what he'd seen, the sound of his mother's back hitting against the wall.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Then there were the sounds she made, moans of pleasure. Athos heard them now, a sadistic song set on repeat.

His hand tugged harder at his penis, jerking up and down until he exploded all over himself. The release felt good, as always, but it wasn't enough.

Not nearly.

He began again, working it to a stiff hardness, pleasuring himself, but not in the same way his father had pleasured his mother.

The images and sounds wouldn't go away. Dammit, he needed to be free of them. How could he maintain control if he kept seeing his mother's golden-brown leg wrapped around his father's waist, her mouth open on a moan, eyes closed in ecstasy?

When he'd gone to retrieve them for Uncle Bruce, Athos had stopped just when he would've knocked on the door. He heard sounds from within the room, none of which sounded as if his parents were talking. Athos had a pretty good idea what they were doing, the same thing his parents always did when they thought him asleep or preoccupied in another part of the Fortress.

He suspected, yet he'd gone in anyway.

Now he wished he hadn't. And Athos didn't want to think too long or hard on why he had deliberately walked in on his parents having sex. Or why the sight of seeing his father take his pleasure inside Athos's mother had infuriated him. Diana was Clark's wife. They were doing what married couples did. Still, the sight had been disturbing, nearly undoing all of Athos's hard fought self-control.

But there was a remedy beyond jerking-off in his underwear. He'd discovered it two years ago, and it had been liberating. Athos now knew how to deal with his anger, the beast within the boy. Once he unleashed the feeling, everything in his life made sense, slowed to a manageable trot. After the release, he was able to be the kind of kid his parents wanted him to be. He could think clearly and stay calm.

But the release was always needed, because the monster was a hungry, greedy creature that Athos had to keep fed and satisfied. If he didn't, well, Athos didn't want to think about that either.

Getting out of bed, Athos changed his clothes, throwing on black sweat pants, a hoodie, and boots. Tying the hoodie, Athos made sure most of his face was concealed.

Creeping out of his bedroom, Athos made his way down the hallway and past the guest room where Uncle Bruce and Aunt Selina slept. Athos rarely tried this when his father was home, which made releasing the pent-up fury all the more difficult. His father's senses were far too acute to not hear Athos enter and exit the house, even when Superman slept.

But when he was distracted, his focus all on Diana, like he was today, Athos could slip out of the house undetected. On those nights, he made sure to not go too far, keeping his missions under an hour. When his mother was home alone, however, getting in and out of the house undetected was much simpler, though he still had to be cautious. More, Athos didn't like the idea of Diana being at home alone. He didn't trust Krypto to keep her safe, although he was sure the super dog would try his best if someone foolishly tried to harm Wonder Woman. So, on those nights, Athos made sure to be back within two hours.

Tonight, however, Athos could take much longer than that. Uncle Bruce was a formidable man, and as Batman he kept a tight leash on the criminals of Gotham. In the end, however, Batman was just a man, a human who, no matter what Athos did, the good boy role he'd perfected, still stared at him with eyes that said: "You can't fool me. I see the real you, monster."

One day Athos would have to deal with the Batman. But that would be years from now. Tonight, Bruce Wayne was safe from him. Besides, Athos actually liked Aunt Selina and would hate to make her cry by gouging her husband's too perceptive eyes from their sockets. She was too good for old Bats, anyway. The aging crime fighter couldn't even do what Superman had done by mistake. He was worse than a neutered dog.

Quietly, Athos closed the door once he was outside—the night cold, the sky gleaming with brilliant stars.

A growl sounded behind him.

He knew Krypto was there. The dog had been his unwilling bystander for nearly two years. No matter how hard he tried, there was simply no way of getting in and out of the house without Krypto knowing. But the dog was easy enough to handle. Not because of anything Athos had done to stop the dog from following him, but because of the specific directive Superman always gave the dog whenever he locked the Fortress down for the night.

"Watch the house. Make sure everything is safe," Superman always said.

What his father meant was for Krypto to keep everyone in the house safe, which Athos knew the dog understood to be his master's intent. At night, Krypto was to stay at the Fortress, especially when Superman was away.

"You stay here and guard Uncle Brue and Aunt Selina."

Another growl, fiercer and closer.

Athos faced the dog, his white coat a bright contrast against the midnight surrounding them.

"I'll be back soon, Krypto. You stay here and watch the Fortress, just as Father told you to do."

Teeth bared white. He snapped at Athos. Dammit. The dog normally growled a bit but obeyed his command, not even barking to alert the household when he left.

But the last time Athos had come home, he hadn't taken the time to wash all the blood from his hands and discard his stained clothes. Krypto had been waiting for him, sniffing then growling his displeasure, clearly having determined that the blood on him wasn't Athos's. No, the blood belonged to four so-called hardcore gang bangers from LA. He'd seen the jerks at the scene of a drive-by shooting that killed ten people, none of the victims the intended target. His father had taken him to the neighborhood. It was far too late for Superman to save anyone, but the city councilwoman of the beleaguered community had appealed to Superman. And while everyone knew who were responsible for the gang war tearing the neighborhood apart, most residents were too afraid to speak, even to Superman.

Athos had spent an entire day canvasing one street after another, looking for that one brave or stupid soul who would risk their life on the rare chance that the local officers would arrest the men and the DA would get a conviction, sending the thugs to jail.

Hopeless.

Pointless.

He knew it, and so did his frustrated father. This was where Athos and Superman split company. Athos had known precisely what to do about those punks. The problem was that they thought they were predators instead of the prey they actually were. Well, Athos had showed them the true face of a predator. And it was the last thing they saw before he ripped their heads off their worthless bodies.

Now, his father's damn dog wouldn't get out of his way. He didn't have time for this. If Athos didn't leave now and find his prey, things wouldn't turn out well for Krypto.

"One last time. Get out of my way. I know you understand me. If you bark and bring the adults out here, I won't be responsible for what I do to them. And if you try to stop me, so help me, Krypto, I'll tear you apart with my bare hands."

The burly dog snarled, leapt, and went for Athos's throat.

The beast inside roared to life.

Claws extended.

Exoskeleton ripped through pants and hoodie.

Lightning sparked from eyes gone white.

A growl.

Athos this time.

He blocked the attack, raising an arm to protect his throat.

Fangs sank into his raised arm, finding an impenetrable exterior instead of soft, vulnerable flesh. Krypto tried harder, using his hind legs as support and pushing into Athos, trying to take him down.

Athos was having none of that. He'd warned the animal. He'd tried to reason with the dog. His father would miss the creature and, in a way, so would Athos. But he'd always wanted a pet of his own, his parents adamant that they didn't need another pet because they had Krypto and he was more than enough.

Well, the dog was not enough for Athos. He was Superman's dog, devoted to him. He'd only tolerated Athos, and now he was trying to kill him.

Yes, his father would miss Krypto, because Krypto had to die. _Will die._

Falling into the snow. Athos tussled with the dog, barely evading the snapping of his super jaws. Wildly, he punched upward, landing a blow to the canine's ribs.

_Crack._

Krypto howled from the pain but kept fighting, kept gnashing and scratching.

But the howl spurred Athos on, as did the blood on the dog's no longer pristine white coat.

Athos struck the dog again, drilling his claws into thick, soft fur and twisting when he met warm flesh.

The dog howled again, his attacks beginning to slow.

Raising his knees, Athos struck the tender underside of the super dog, sending him flying off of him.

Like the beast he was, Athos went on the offensive, getting to Krypto before he landed in the snow.

He'd never moved that fast, but he was getting stronger, changing, like his father had said. He wouldn't have to use his super speed to run to L.A. today, he could satisfy the raging need to kill with Krypto's bloody death.

Jumping onto the downed animal and avoiding his still snapping jaws, Athos began to rain down vicious blow after vicious blow. The dog was strong, no doubt about that. But Athos was stronger, more determined, and definitely more lethal. So he kept hitting his enemy, slicing the animal with claws and fangs that sprang from his own mouth. Within minutes, Athos, Krypto, and the ground glowed crimson fire.

Superman's dog lay unmoving under Athos's trembling body, Krypto's breathing labored, heart pounding—slow but there. If left like this, when the sun rose, Krypto would heal. For a regretful second, Athos considered dragging himself off the animal and letting it be. This wasn't how he'd envisioned tonight going. He hadn't set out to kill his father's beloved pet. _He tried to kill you, _the cruel, unfeeling part of him said. _It's conquer or be conquered. You choose._

Calling lightning to hands dripping with blood, Athos slammed them into Krypto's chest and ripped out his heart.

He'd chosen.

And tonight Athos was the undisputed conqueror.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Earth Prime**

**2014**

**Metropolis**

"I was thinking we could have dinner tonight, that is, if you aren't busy or already have a prior engagement."

Even if Clark had other plans, he would drop them in a minute if it meant spending an evening with Diana, especially since he hadn't seen his girlfriend in nearly three weeks. In fact, during those three weeks, this was only the second time Diana had called him. She'd even taken time off from the Justice League, which wasn't like her at all.

But the events of the last month had taken its toll on the both of them. Clark had killed Doomsday, and then nearly killed himself and others when he'd ingested the creature's particles, unknowingly infecting himself with a Doomsday virus. Worse, Clark had put Diana in a situation where she'd been forced to choose between killing him and allowing Superdoom to massacre a town of innocents, and who knows how many more people would've fallen to Superdoom after the small Romanian town had been destroyed.

The cellphone creaked in his hand, so hard was he holding it at the thought of what it must have been like for Diana to raise her sword to slay the monster Clark had turned into. She had made the right decision, in what Clark suspected had been a horrible moment of realization for her. Superdoom would not stop unless someone . . . Diana stopped him. At that point, the kryptonite in the air had weakened Clark to the point of ineffectiveness. He had no energy left to fight the virus, though his will to regain control had never wavered.

So Diana had leveled her god-created sword against Clark, tears and resigned determination in her eyes. Until that near fatal day, Clark had never seen his Amazon princess cry, although he had witnessed her sadness and grief on a few occasions, most notably when Hera turned Hippolyta into a clay statue and Diana's sisters into snakes. Even then, whatever tears she'd shed had been done in private. The tears Diana had shed for Clark, when Superdoom stared at her with all the compassion of a King Cobra, slammed into him, the pain more potent to his system than the kryptonite that had weakened him.

At the end, however, they were victorious—against the virus and Brainiac, the mastermind behind all that had happened to Clark.

For a month, things between Clark and Diana had been great. They'd gone away together for a much-needed vacation. They'd talked about their relationship, and, to Clark's eternal delight, Diana had finally told Clark that she loved him. After her confession, the rest of the vacation was set to repeat—sex, sleep, eat, sex, sleep, eat, sex, sleep, eat. Yeah, that had been one hell of an extended weekend.

Yet three weeks ago something had changed with Diana. She'd withdrawn—physically and emotionally. To his frustration, Clark had no idea what had prompted the drastic reversal in their relationship. So when Diana called today, out of the blue, Clark was both ecstatic and worried. Surely they had been through too much, meant too much to each other for Diana to decide she no longer wanted to be with him. True, their relationship was still in its formative stage, but they'd been together more than a year now. In Clark's book, this was a good start to a relatonship he hoped would withstand the test of time.

"If I've caught you at a bad time, we can get together next week or the week after that. I don't expect you to drop whatever you have planned simply because I called."

What? No, that wasn't what Clark wanted. But he hadn't answered her question, his thoughts allowing long seconds of silence to hang between them, giving her the erroneous idea that she'd caught him at a bad time.

"No, no, I'm good. Dinner sounds nice. Where do you want to eat? We could fly—"

"Nothing like that, Clark, something simple. I could stop by that Thai restaurant you like so much on my way to your apartment. We can eat in, maybe catch a movie on cable or watch that John Pilger _Real Journalism_ documentary you've told me so much about."

Clark waited, sensing there was something else Diana wanted to say to him.

"There is also something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

He didn't like the sound of that. It reminded him too much of when Diana thought it a good idea to spend some time apart after the Zod, Faora, and atomic explosion fiasco.

Now, as Clark stood in his shower, reflecting on what Diana had said as much as what she did not say, he couldn't help but smile. He'd missed her, and she would be here soon.

Clark had left the door unlocked for her, although he'd given her a key to his apartment months ago. It took him by surprise, however, when he heard her approach his apartment much earlier than their arranged meeting time. Unless an emergency arose, Diana was always on time but she was rarely thirty minutes early, like she was today.

Standing under the jet spray to get the last of the soapsuds off him, Clark called out to her. "It's unlocked, come on in." He listened as she opened the door and closed it behind her. He shut off the shower and grabbed the towel he'd left on the sink. "I didn't expect you for another thirty minutes," Clark said, making quick work of drying himself with the towel. He missed a few spots, he knew, but Clark was impatient to see Diana. Besides, she'd seen him fresh from the shower before. Diana wouldn't mind if Clark wasn't quite ready for their date.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Clark moved back to the sink. He hadn't shaved or brushed his teeth before jumping into the shower. "I was surprised you called me today. I know you've been busy the last couple of weeks, so I was really glad to hear from you."

He waited for her to respond, but Diana said nothing. No matter, Clark would get all the details from her tonight. Right now, however, he made quick work of shaving and brushing his teeth. No way did he want to give Diana whisker burns. And he intended to kiss the hell out of her with fresh, minty breath, as soon as possible. She may have wanted to eat, watch something on television, and then talk. And they would. But Clark had something else in mind, something that didn't require him to immediately dress.

When finished, he opened the bathroom door and went in search of his lady. Which, considering the size of his apartment, didn't take but a few seconds. Diana liked to call the place "quaint," which, to Clark's way of seeing things, was Diana's polite way of saying his apartment was small.

As soon as Clark saw Diana, eyes wide and taking in his near naked state, Clark grinned—broadly.

She didn't say a word as he stalked toward her, which was quite an apt descriptor. He felt like a lion to her beautiful doe—ready to pounce and devour her bite by delicious bite. Clark pulled Diana to him, her female softness to his male hardness. Yes, he had missed this woman, especially those luscious lips of hers that seemed to be begging for his kiss.

Willing to oblige them both, he leaned down, wanting to drink deeply from his demigoddess.

Strong hands came to his chest, not pushing him away but neither drawing him forward.

"We need to talk."

No they didn't, not now. They had the entire night to talk.

"So serious, Diana. Sure, we can talk." _In my bedroom, as I undress you, licking every scrumptious inch of flesh I reveal. _

"We need to—"

He allowed his hands to slip from her hips to Diana's backside, where he began a sensual massage, letting her know precisely what kind of communication he wanted them to do. It had, after all, been almost three weeks since they'd last made love. And, Clark had decided while shaving, if Diana wanted to end their relationship she wouldn't have invited herself to his apartment for dinner to do it. Diana wouldn't do something so heartless.

So he held her plump bottom in his large, hungry hands, waiting for her to melt into him the way she normally did when he touched her in this way.

But she wasn't melting, not nearly.

"Look at me."

Oh, he was looking. And the view was spectacular. He loved when Diana wore red undergarments, especially when they were silk and lace, which the bra she wore was. But it was the breasts behind the red bra that had him salivating for a taste, a quick nibble to curb his growing appetite.

"I am," Clark mindlessly answered, shamelessly using his X-ray vision to eye grope his gorgeous girlfriend.

To his disappointment, Diana took hold of his face and lifted it so that his eyes were level with her own.

"No, _really_ look at me, Superman."

Diana's insistence on being serious was really spoiling the mood. But he hadn't ever heard that particular tone from her, so yeah, Clark found himself _really_ looking at Diana. And she was as regal and lovely as ever.

But now that we was looking, _really_ looking at the woman he held in his arms, a stomach churning awareness began to take form, crowding out thoughts of sex and dousing the lingering remnants of lust.

This person who looked so much like Diana wasn't _his_ Diana. But dammit, they could've passed as twins, so alike in appearance were they. But now that Clark was truly paying attention, he could see all the ways in which the two women differed.

He began to mentally catalogue all the differences his libido hadn't permitted him to notice earlier. For one, this woman . . . Forget it, he should probably begin with an apology. He started to say something, anything to explain his actions. But his tongue twisted into embarrassed knots. He stopped, and then tried again.

The door to Clark's apartment opened then closed. _No. No. No.. _He was really off his game today. So taken aback by the Diana, that wasn't Diana, already in his apartment, Clark hadn't heard the woman he'd been expecting.

Looking over the stranger's shoulder and to Diana, Clark cringed at the stony image of his Amazon. Then he watched those cold blue eyes of hers drop to where he—_shit_—still held the stranger's ass in his hands.

As if the beautiful woman had burned him, Clark yanked his hands away, and then took several steps away from the stranger his girlfriend had just caught him fondling. _In nothing but a god damn towel no less. _If he could, Clark would've disappeared into the floor. But running away rarely solved anything.

Instead, he reminded himself that this was one huge misunderstanding. Not that he understood what in the hell was going on or why a Diana lookalike was in his apartment. But all of that could come later. Right now he had to reach Diana before she followed through on that menacing look she was giving him and the stranger.

"Umm, Diana, I can explain. This isn't what it looks like."

No it wasn't, but the image had to be damning as hell from Diana's perspective.

"Explain what it is I just walked in on."

Clark opened his mouth to do just that, not that he had much more of a clue as to why a woman who looked just like Diana was in his apartment than Diana did.

"Well, I—"

"Wonder Woman doesn't mean you. She means me."

Sure enough, Diana's eyes were no longer drilling into him as if Clark were some cheating loser Hippolyta had warned her daughter about, but the woman who he'd just been pawing. At the memory, Clark palmed his face, hoping the stranger hadn't realized he'd used his X-ray vision to undress her.

"I thought she was you," Clark blurted, needing Diana to know that what she walked in on was a true case of mistaken identity.

Voice boulder hard, Diana didn't even bother to glance his way when she said, "I can see how you could mistake her for me, with that long braid of hers that falls to the backside you were taking so much pleasure in touching."

Clark winced because, hell no, he'd been too busy visually undressing the woman and thinking about carrying her into his bedroom to notice her hairstyle or much else that distinguished her from Diana. But he saw what Diana did. All the little but significant ways the women differed in appearance.

"I assume you also failed to notice her lack of a London-Themyscrian accent? Or do you think I make it a habit to imitate the speech pattern of Hera."

Yeah, that was another thing Clark's libido had failed to register. Not that the woman had spoken more than a couple of sentences to him, but it should've been enough for Clark to have gotten a clue. What could he say? One thing was for sure, he damn sure wasn't so honest as to admit that lust had robbed him of common sense and observations skills. Although, shit, Diana had to know that had indeed been the case.

"Umm, well, yeah." He felt like a complete idiot, and sounded like one as well.

While Clark struggled for a more articulate response, Diana spun in a circle. When she stopped, Wonder Woman stood in his apartment, her warrior armor matching her rigid military stance.

"If you knew enough about Clark to come to his apartment, then you know what this is."

"I do, and I expected nothing less from you."

Diana unhooked her lasso from her belt, and then let a short length of it unfurl.

"Considering the position I found the two of you in, I assume you aren't an immediate threat. If you were, you or Clark would now be hurt or dead from your battle, and I wouldn't have this nearly uncontrollable urge to hit something, very, very hard."

Diana was right. As close as Clark had gotten to the stranger, if she wanted to attack him he'd made himself an open, unsuspecting target. But she hadn't made one aggressive move. _No, she asked me to look at her, to really look at her. She was trying to get me to realize that she wasn't Diana._

With a flick of her wrist, Diana tossed the unfurled portion of the lasso to the woman, who caught the end with a similar graceful ease as the Amazon princess. She wrapped it twice around her hand, and then asked, "Good enough for you, Wonder Woman?"

"Clark, please do something about your appearance. I would rather not have this conversation with you wearing nothing but a flimsy towel."

Ah, yeah, he was still damn near naked. And clearly Diana wouldn't be getting over what she had seen anytime soon, if her brittle, impatient tone was any clue.

The women stood only five feet from each other, but neither spoke while Clark dashed into his bedroom, ditched the towel and threw on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. He was back in sixty seconds, feeling more like himself with his clothes on.

"What is your first question, Wonder Woman?"

Clark didn't know what Diana's questions would be, but he had a boatload of his own. As he observed them, he noticed something else about Diana's double. _She's older than Diana, not by much. Maybe five or six years, which would put her around thirty to Diana's twenty-four._

"No questions just yet. I want you to tell me who you are and why you're here. The lasso will discern truth from deception. But I strongly advise you to speak only the truth - of the heart and the mind."

"I haven't come here to lie to either of you."

The lasso glowed, bright and yellow, which, as far as Clark knew, was a sign of truthfulness.

"Then tell us why you're here."

"Of course." The woman gripped the lasso tighter, her focus totally on Diana. "I am Diana of Mount Olympus. My father is Zeus and my mother Hippolyta of the Amazons. I assume, since we are nearly mirror images of each other, that your parents are the same."

Diana didn't respond, just held her end of the lasso as tightly as Diana of Mount Olympus. That title alone raised a series of questions for Clark, the reporter in him buzzing with curiosity.

"Go on."

Diana of Mount Olympus was warm, polite and business-like while Diana's tone and eyes had nothing on the Arctic ice cap.

"I traveled here today from another Earth."

Neither Diana nor Clark flinched at the revelation, which was a testament to how crazy their life was that the existence of yet another Earth didn't faze them. Little in this world, or any other, would shock Diana and Clark. They'd been many places—on and off-world— and had met all manner of beings and life forms.

"At one time I too went by the moniker of Wonder Woman. But that is a story for another time."

"While I'm sure Clark would love to pepper you with questions about your Earth and how you came to be Diana of Mount Olympus, I simply want you to explain why you are on our Earth and in Clark's apartment."

Diana of Mount Olympus smiled at Diana, and then nodded with patience and eyes that held more wisdom than a mere three decades of life should've afforded her.

"You bring back fond memories of my youth, Wonder Woman. I had forgotten."

"We may look alike, but we are not the same."

"Yes, yes, of course. I will try to remember. We are not the same, it is true. I apologize."

Clark closed a mouth that had fallen opened. It was as if he was watching a present and future version of Diana. Diana was right; she and the other Diana were not the same. But there was also no denying the similarity that had so confused Clark earlier went beyond the women's near-identical appearance.

"I'm here because of my son. He's sick and Bruce thinks the two of you can help him."

"Your Earth has a Bruce Wayne, too? What is he like? Are you telling us that your Earth is identical to our Earth, down to the inhabitants?"

"Not identical, but I think, like me and Wonder Woman, our two Earths are oddly similar. Listen," she said, her voice earnest but tinged with a coating of desperation, "I know me being here is strange. I can't imagine what is going through your minds. But let me assure you, I'm only here because of my son. Until a few days ago, I didn't know you and this Earth existed. That is a story I am willing to explain to you both."

She did, weaving a tale of time and space travel that came straight out of a science fiction novel.

What Clark learned was amazing. She was much older than she looked. Diana had once confided in Clark that she didn't know the impact divine blood would have on her aging. Well, it seems as if demigods aged very, very slowly. But that wasn't what sent Clark's mind whirling. It was when she said, "Kal and I married and had a son who carries the Doomsday virus in his bone marrow. When he came to me that night, I didn't know Clark had been infected and he didn't know, well, we didn't think I could . . ." Diana of Mount Olympus sighed and shook her head. "It was a long time ago, but that night forever changed our lives. Athos, our son, wasn't like other children. Now, as a man, he's not at all what I hoped him to be, what I think he is capable of becoming if freed from his illness."

Her blue eyes were rimmed with exhausted sadness, which made her look all of her fifty-four years.

Clark couldn't imagine. He just couldn't imagine being the Clark from the other Earth and having unknowingly impregnated Diana with the Doomsday virus. At the thought, he snapped his head to Diana, who had, halfway through Diana of Mount Olympus's story, handed him her end of the lasso and strolled away from them.

She stood at the living room window, arms crossed over her chest and eyes staring at something outside the window. Although, from the undecipherable faraway look in her eyes, Clark didn't think she was taking in the Metropolis skyline.

His eyes traveled to her flat stomach. For the second time that day, he invaded a woman's privacy with his X-ray vision, because, dammit, he'd been like that other Superman and had selfishly gone to Diana when he'd first been infected with the Doomsday virus—needing her warmth and reassurance. He had to make sure. Clark had to know whether Diana carried his child, which would explain a whole hell of a lot, beginning with why she'd been avoiding him for the last three weeks and her desire to have a private conversation with him.

But his scan revealed no fetus. Diana was as healthy as ever, but not pregnant. Although Clark thought she may have lost a few pounds since he'd last seen her. In spite of that, there was something wrong with her, something about the other Diana's story that had disturbed the Amazon to her resilient core.

"Bruce thinks a bone marrow transplant will cure Athos," Diana was saying, continuing her story despite only having Clark's partial attention and none of Diana's.

"A bone marrow transplant? Is that why you are here?" He turned back to the Olympian. "Your Bruce Wayne thinks one of us could be a match?" How a Batman from another Earth had come to that deduction, Clark hadn't a clue.

"Yes, he thinks . . ." Her gaze traveled to Diana, who stood unmoving and in her own world at the window. "I think I've shocked your Wonder Woman."

Something definitely had, but Clark wasn't exactly sure what it was. The entire tale was close to being unbelievable, though Diana's double was quite real, making it difficult to ignore her story of sex, pregnancy, marriage, and a sick and doomed son. And the lasso he held in his hand stilled glowed from the apparent truth the woman had spoken.

"I apologize if I've distressed either of you. That was not my intention. Yet, as a mother, I couldn't turn my back on a possible cure for my son, no matter how slight the chances of success. Having no children of your own, I know it may be difficult for you to understand the lengths a parent will go to to help and protect their child, even when that child is a grown man with too much power and not enough self-restraint."

Well, umm, that didn't sound good. Clark wanted to know more about Athos, much, much more. If he held any portion of the Doomsday virus in him, he had to be dangerous. _Like I was._

Clark glanced back over his shoulder at Diana, expecting to see her zoned out and not paying them any attention. Instead, she turned, met his gaze, and began walking toward them, body language unapproachable.

"I have to go," was all Diana said before claiming her lasso and stalking out of the door, not once looking at Clark.

_What in the hell was that all about?_

The other Diana appeared just as perplexed as Clark. She placed a gentle, almost motherly hand on his shoulder. "My Kal often thinks he is respecting my wishes by giving me space when I am upset. Even after thirty years of marriage, there are still parts of me he fails to comprehend completely. It also doesn't help that I don't fully share emotions that most make me feel vulnerable. And I was even more emotionally closed-off when I was Wonder Woman's age."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying if you're anything like my Kal, you won't go after her, thinking she'll return when she's ready to talk. And if Wonder Woman is anything like me, when she does return, she would have fortified her heart under layers of marble, making it nigh on impossible for you to reach her if she doesn't wish it."

And didn't that explain the first year of Diana and Clark's relationship—Clark afraid to share her, to push the boundaries of what it meant to be Kal-El, Clark Kent, and Superman and Diana afraid to accept, to give in, or be vulnerable in all the ways necessary to make a relationship work.

"I can't leave you here by yourself."

Her arched brows let him know he'd said the wrong thing.

"Do you think I'll abscond with your belongings while you are away?"

"Of course not, it's just . . ." Well, Clark didn't know why he had a problem with leaving her unattended in his apartment. The woman was a demigod who had clearly claimed all the rights and privileges of being the daughter of Zeus. Besides, there wasn't an item in Clark's apartment worth stealing. All his important stuff was kept at the Fortress. It just felt kind of weird leaving a woman in his apartment who wasn't Diana, Lois, or even Kara.

"I'm sorry if I offended you. This has turned out to be a strange day."

"For me as well. It's not every day a woman travels to another Earth and the past. Even Zeus limits his erotic forays to his own planet and time period."

Clark couldn't help but stare at the woman. In so many ways she reminded him of his Diana. She was kind, intelligent, and loyal. Her presence here attested to how much she loved her son, no matter the danger he probably posed to her world. That was such a Diana of Themyscira thing to do, risking her life to help a person close to her heart. She had no way of knowing how this world's Superman and Wonder Woman would have reacted to her—violently, uncaringly, or with benevolence. Yet she was also unlike Diana, her age and life lessons giving her a different perspective through which to view others, life, and herself.

None of which automatically made her assessment of him and Diana correct. Yet there was something Diana was keeping from him, something she'd come there today to tell him but hadn't gotten a chance to due to their unexpected visitor.

So yeah, he would go after her and have that talk. There were a couple of places Diana tended to go when her mind was troubled. Clark just hoped she hadn't flown to Themyscria, because that was one place he couldn't follow.

By the time he'd changed into his Superman armor, his visitor from another Earth had made herself comfortable on his couch, today's _Daily Planet_ in her hands and a pile of old _Newsweeks_ beside her.

"I thought I would learn about your planet and time while you're gone."

No, he didn't mind. As long as the place was in one piece when he got back, Diana of Mount Olympus could do whatever she wished while he was gone.

Clark opened the window, prepared to take flight.

"I bet she is an admirable Wonder Woman. Considering what she walked in on, she showed considerable constraint. I can't say with certainty that I would've done the same when I was that young. From what I can see, you two are lucky to have each other."

Clark felt lucky, but . . . "She is an admirable Wonder Woman, but she's an even better Diana."

With that, Clark took flight, shooting out the window in a blur of red-and-blue.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

**Earth-16**

**2027**

**Fortress of Solitude**

"I know I heard something." Bruce looked over his shoulder and at his sleepy wife—beautiful even with bed ruffled hair and groggy eyes.

Selina rolled over in bed, her eyes going to the clock on the nightstand. "What could you have possibly heard so far out here and at this time of night . . . of morning?" Flopping one arm over her eyes, shielding them from the light he'd just turned on, Selina groaned. "I went to bed with Bruce Wayne and woke up next to Batman. Go away Dark Knight and bring back my husband."

Bruce Wayne had indeed given way to Batman, and Batman wanted answers. If he hadn't just returned to bed from the bathroom, Bruce would've chocked up what he heard to his imagination or a dream. But a couple of minutes ago, Bruce had heard what he swore were footsteps passing by his closed bedroom door. He supposed it could have been Krypto on nightly patrol, a security measure the Gotham crime fighter could respect. But it could have also been Athos, the thought of which disturbed Bruce to the point of propelling him from the bed.

Despite what everyone else thought, Bruce knew Athos was not the new and improved kid he'd convinced his parents and the Justice Leaguers that he was. He'd managed to wrap them all around his manipulative little fingers, including Selina who saw in Athos the child she and Bruce hadn't managed to have. And the little con artist played on Selina's emotions, being extra sweet and solicitous around her, a subtle reminder that, if not for her husband, she could be a mother.

Bruce and Selina rarely talked about their inability to conceive, or rather Bruce's inability to get his wife with child. He knew the medical reason behind his infertility, so there was really nothing to discuss. He supposed they could have went the way of thousands of other couples and adopted a child, but Bruce's late night lifestyle had put that possibility on hold for far too many years to count. Now, well now they were pretty much resigned to never raising a child together.

Yet each time Bruce regretted denying himself and Selina that experience, he was brought up short with an image of Athos. Having a child had not brought much happiness to Clark and Diana's lives. Sure, they loved Athos because he was theirs, and they worked hard to raise him with strong values and a sense of responsibility—the way they had been reared. Bruce knew his friends were good parents. But they were wholly incapable of transforming a monster into a man of worth.

And Athos, no matter how sweet his smiles, silver his tongue, or the number of humanitarian missions his father dragged him into, the boy was a time bomb yet to explode. It was a shame really, Bruce mused, pulling on pants, shirt, and shoes, because there was no denying how much Athos loved his parents, especially Diana. But the boy had a duplicitous mind and a conflicted heart—a lethal combination that didn't bode well for the world or his parents' hearts.

"I'm going to go check on the demon spawn."

None too surprisingly, Selina frowned at Bruce before scrambling out of bed. "How many times have I asked you to not refer to Athos that way?"

"You only asked me to not call the brat that in front of his parents. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Getting dressed."

"Well, that much is apparent. What I meant is that I don't need Catwoman on this mission."

Shimming into a pair of black leggings, that did wonderful things for Selina's tight, little ass, and a black-and-white long sleeve spandex shirt, she was ready to go before Bruce could finish his protest.

She met him at the door, her stubborn eyes daring him to tell her _no_.

"Well, too bad. If you get to play Batman then you'll simply have to contend with Catwoman."

He didn't like it. He never did when the woman got it into her mind to challenge him. _Which she's done since the first time I met her. When will I ever learn? I should've crept from bed instead of waking her. _

But hindsight was 20-20 and Selina had just run back to the nightstand for his JL communicator and cellphone.

"Just in case, "she said, handing him the items.

Shoving them both in his pants pocket, Bruce opened the door and led the way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. As he suspected, the hallway was quiet and clear.

"Lights at thirty percent."

Less than thirty seconds went by before Clark's security program recognized Bruce's voice and complied with his command, illuminating the hallway with a soft glow.

"Nice trick. Will the Fortress respond to my voice command?"

Selina was only joking. Clark liked and loved many people. But he had only ever trusted Diana and Bruce with access to the Fortress. Even Bruce, however, didn't have unfettered access. That level of absolute trust resided with Diana only, and Bruce couldn't begrudge Clark his caution. He was the same way about his Batcave, although Selina would say he was like that about most things in his life.

"Come on," she said, tugging his hand. "Let's check on Athos. I'm sure he's sound asleep. Once you see for yourself that he's safe and where he should be, we can go back to bed. Or" —she gave him a saucy smile and wink— "we could make love again then go back to sleep."

Bruce returned her smile, unable to give her his trademark scowl when she was being so naughty and looking so good in those leggings.

They rounded a corner, putting them in the part of the Fortress where the family bedrooms were located. Clark and Diana's room was at the end of the hall, while Athos's room was first, his private bathroom separating his room from that of his parents.

"You wait here, and I'll go check."

This time, Selina listened to Bruce. Walking softly to the closed door, Bruce first listened, pressing an ear up to the solid door. Hearing nothing within, he raised a hand to the knob, twisted, and then pushed. If Athos was sleeping the way Selina thought he would be and Bruce awakened the boy, he would just mumble something and leave—no harm, no foul.

But as Bruce entered the bedroom and examined his surroundings, he saw no sign of Athos. No longer caring about possibly waking a sleeping child, Bruce called out.

No answer.

He turned only to run smack into his wife.

"He's not here."

"So I gathered from the way you just yelled the boy's name, waking the dead I'm sure."

"He should be here. It's after one in the god damn morning."

No matter that Athos was a demon spawn, he was still the child of Bruce's best friends, and they had left their child in his care, entrusting his safety to him.

"This place is huge. I'm sure Athos is here somewhere. He's probably in the kitchen eating something unhealthy and delicious or in the living room watching a smutty movie his mother would die if she ever found out. He's thirteen and his parents are gone for the night. Give the kid a break."

Everything Selina said made perfect sense, if Athos was a normal thirteen-year old kid. But he wasn't, and Bruce's instincts told him more was going on here than a teen taking advantage of being parent-free for a night.

"I'm calling them." He reached into his pocket for his cellphone, but Selina grabbed his arm.

"Don't, Bruce. Let's at least search the Fortress first."

"But—"

"It's their anniversary, and they rarely go anywhere without Athos. He's a good kid, but he's also high maintenance. Let's just look for Athos first before calling his parents. Besides, we're already up, no need to wake Diana and Clark."

Wake them? Doubtful. The way Clark damn near floated out to the living room after he and Diana had taken way too long getting dressed, a goofy I-just-got-lucky grin on his face, no way did Bruce believe Clark and Diana were spending their rare night away from home sleeping. But yes, searching the Fortress for Athos wasn't a bad idea.

"That will be the first thing they'll ask us. I would hate to tell them that we didn't take the time to look for their son before calling and worrying them."

Again, Selina's logic was on target. Yet . . .

Bruce groaned, hating when he allowed his wife to talk him out of doing something he knew he should do. Many times she was right. _But tonight won't be one of those times. I just know it._

"Fine, but let's make it quick. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Split up?"

That would be the fastest way. "Yes, but let's go back to the room and get your cellphone first. I don't like the idea of you wandering around this place without a means of contacting me."

He also didn't like the idea of Selina stumbling upon Athos without him. But he couldn't coddle his wife, no matter how much he often wanted to. She was a capable and intelligent woman. And, despite Bruce's justified wariness of Athos, the boy seemed to have genuine affection for Selina. Bruce didn't think Athos would hurt her. He was as sure of that as he was that, if provoked, Athos would rip Bruce in two.

With that sobering thought, Bruce led Selina back to their bedroom, then in search of the demon spawn.

* * *

**Tahiti**

Cold waves washed over their heated bodies, producing ripples of steam. They didn't notice, nor did they care.

Wet sand clung to them—gritty and thick. They didn't notice, nor did they care.

Passion and hunger had taken hold of Clark and Diana, blocking out all sight, sound, touch, and taste beyond each other, beyond their joined, enraptured bodies.

The moon was out, the beach private, and the couple entangled in limbs, lips, and raging hearts.

A desperate, breathless voice broke into the silence. "Not yet. Not yet, Clark."

Holding tightly to hips that slammed, gyrated, and sent him down a rabbit hole of immeasurable pleasure, Clark gritted his teeth and tried to hold on. Diana was killing him, and he was basking in every minute of her expert loving.

Clark opened closed eyes. Above him his wife shown like a sex goddess of myth. Long, dark hair spilled down her back, high, tight breasts swayed as she rode him, and the curve of her hips and ass had Clark raising his knees and slamming hard into her.

"Yes! Just like that."

He did it again, bringing them both gratifying pleasure. But it also pushed Clark closer to the edge. He was close, so damn close.

"Now, Diana?"

"Almost." She rocked harder, faster, rubbing her clit on his abs with vigor and intensity. "Almost. Almost."

Diana was leaning over him, hands in the sand and on either side of his head. She was close enough to kiss, so he did.

They'd made love three times since arriving at their beachfront home—once in the shower, once on the deck, and now under the moon and stars and in the sand.

"We should have another baby," he whispered against her lips. "I want to give you another baby."

Diana sat up, Clark still deep inside of her. "Do we dare?"

"Athos isn't how he was. You saw him today. He was angry as hell at me, but he maintained his control."

While Athos was still too possessive of his mother, Clark could see a remarkable change in his son. He was so proud of him. For once, Athos was becoming the kind of son Clark always wished him to be. Their relationship was nothing like the one Clark had with Pa, and he didn't think it ever would. But that didn't mean Clark and Athos couldn't have a solid father-son relationship. Clark so wanted to be able to connect and bond with his only child. Family was important to Clark, yet he had only ever been blessed with a small one.

Until recently, Clark had given up on the idea of having more children with Diana. But Athos had finally begun to show signs of maturity and true heroism. If he kept accompanying Clark on humanitarian missions, he was sure Athos would continue to see the value of not only self-restraint but how much good he could do when he used his powers for unselfish reasons—helping instead of harming.

"I would like that—very much." Her smile lit up the night sky in a way that would make the moon goddess envious. "It will take a few months for the contraceptive Hessia gives me to run its course before I'll be able conc—"

Clark began to move, unable to deny his body any longer.

Diana's eyes closed and she dropped down to his chest with a languid grace, covering his body with her sweaty, curvaceous form.

Then she began to move again, quickly building the pleasure with each rise and fall of her hips. "Practice," she purred in his ear. "Lots and lots of baby making practice."

He flipped them over, knowing if Diana remained on top, her preferred position, she would torture him by slow, sensual degrees before allowing him to have his release. He may have been a powerful Kryptonian, but when it came to sex Diana's stamina was unmatched.

"I love you."

"I know, and I love you."

"And we're going to have a baby, make Athos a big brother."

Diana arched toward him, brushing breasts against muscled chest. "Stop talking, Clark, and start practicing."

He laughed. "Yes, Wonder Woman. Whatever you say, Wonder Woman. I'm at your service, Wonder Woman."

She smacked his ass, and then rolled them back over with a, "Not yet, Clark. Not yet."

* * *

**Fortress of Solitude**

As Bruce suspected, Athos wasn't in the Fortress, unless the kid was doing a good imitation of a ghost soldier.

"Should we check outside?"

They should but . . .

"Tell you what, Selina, I'll wait here while you retrieve your shoes and our coats from the bedroom. If you go outside like that, you'll catch your death of a cold."

Bruce made sure his voice was sincere and gentle, nothing of the Batman coming through that would give her any reason to question his request. If Selina did, she would call him on his bullshit and dig her heels in. He didn't want that. What he wanted was his wife out of harm's way. And that wouldn't happen if she thought he was bossing her around, or worse, trying to manipulate her—which, of course, he was.

Feigning nonchalance, Bruce sat on a loveseat in the living room. "I doubt if Athos is outside playing in the snow with Krypto, but it's worth a look before we call Clark and Diana. But I'm not interested in going out into freezing weather without our coats." He stood. "You know what, it would probably be faster if I do it. You wait here."

Before he took one step, Selina was already heading out of the living room, her pride pricked at the suggestion that Catwoman couldn't do something as well as Batman.

When she was out of hearing and seeing range, Bruce dashed out of the living room, down two hallways and to the front door. Within seconds, he was standing in front of the Fortress, the arctic air chilling him to his bones. Shoulders hunched to rapidly reddening ears and hands shoved into pockets, Bruce began to trudge through the knee-high snow.

He'd walked only a few feet when his teary eyes made out two figures in the distance. He wished for his night vision goggles, though he could see well enough to know that he'd just located Athos and Krypto. And, dammit, they weren't playing in the snow.

They were fighting—trying to kill each other.

_Dammit._

Stiff fingers made it difficult for Bruce to pull out his cellphone. It took several tries but he finally managed to get it out and up to his ear. Backtracking until his foot hit the side of the Fortress, Bruce huddled down, not wanting Athos to hear or see him. And no, Bruce wasn't so arrogant as to think himself capable of going up against a part Kryptonian, part demigod demon spawn with no weapons or kryptonite to protect himself.

Clark's phone rang five times before throwing Bruce into voicemail. He tried Diana's cell. No luck. _Shit._

Digging into his pants pocket again, Bruce found his JL communicator. Putting it in his ear, he contacted the Watchtower.

Bruce had no idea what was going on just over the horizon between Athos and Krypto, but the sounds of battle that reached him did not sound good—for Krypto.

"Yes, Batman."

Martian Manhunter, good.

"J'onzz, I need you to contact Diana and Clark. They aren't answering their cellphones. It's an emergency."

"I can tell, just give me a minute."

A howl of agony shattered the night sky, reaching Bruce on blood curdling air currents that had him squinting into the darkness to see what had happened.

He saw nothing.

"Forget it, J'onzz, just get them here now. I'm outside the Fortress. Transport Clark and Diana about fifty feet due west of my position."

"But—"

"Do it now, dammit. Do it now!" _Before it's too late._

But it was already too late, Bruce knew.

When he looked up, he saw Selina coming toward him, her winter coat and shoes on, his heavy coat in her arms.

Crouching beside him, she frowned. "What have you done?"

_Shattered my best friends' world. _"What needed doing, Selina. What needed doing."

* * *

One minute Clark and Diana were sitting at the kitchen table, feeding each other fruit, and the next he felt his body yanked from their getaway retreat. Warmth and florescent light had given way to cold and darkness.

Clark stood in wet, icy snow, and it took him a few seconds to adjust to the abrupt change in location.

"What in the hell just happened? Diana, are you—"

Clark glanced around for his wife and found . . .

Blood.

Krypto.

Athos.

Clark closed his eyes and shook his head. Surely he had to be dreaming or someone was playing a cruel, early Halloween trick on him. He opened his eyes. The image remained, worse than before. There, on the ground a mere twenty feet in front of him was Athos on top of a bleeding and still Krypto. They were both covered in blood, Krypto's fur and Athos's hands and face.

And in those clawed hands of Athos was . . . was . . . a heart? Krypto's heart?

No. No, No. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening. Not Athos. Not Krypto. Athos was a good boy now. He wouldn't harm anyone, least of all the family dog—Clark's dog.

But the evidence was there, in all its gory red-and-white detail.

Without thinking, Clark flew toward his son and pushed him off Krypto with a force that sent the boy flying. Vaguely, he heard Athos land with a hard _thud_.

But Clark's attention was all for his dog, his first best friend and a companion unlike any other. The dog lay in his own blood, chest opened and heart gone. Even if the sun rose right this moment, it would be far too late to save Krypto. Just as Clark was too late.

Tears fell.

A lake.

A river.

An ocean.

Clark couldn't stop, didn't remember the wretched pain of losing Ma and Pa Kent until this very moment. Death hurt so damn much—too much. And Clark couldn't stop himself from retching at the gruesome sight, his hands going to the snow, head down and heart torn asunder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Diana was beside him, rubbing his back and speaking soothing words in his ear. But he couldn't see her. All he could see was Krypto's ravaged body.

Diana pulled him to her. He buried his face in her neck and cried like the baby they been planning on having.

A baby? The memory brought him up short. They wouldn't. They couldn't.

Lifting his head, Clark saw his son standing only a few feet away. Claws were gone, as were the lightning white eyes. And the child wore no bracers on his wrists, which meant he'd used his full strength to kill Krypto.

Clark didn't understand. He didn't want to understand. Because with understanding came hard to live with decisions.

"I didn't mean to do it," Athos said, his own eyes as teary as Clark's. "I tried not to fight him, but he wouldn't get out of my way." Athos pointed to the felled dog. "He attacked me first. I swear. Krypto attacked me first. You must believe me."

Athos stepped closer but suddenly stopped, perhaps sensing that now was not a good time to put himself within arm's reach of Clark.

"Please, Father, you must believe me. I didn't mean to kill your dog."

Athos began to cry, silent tears that should've saddened Clark to see him shed. But all Clark felt for his son was a bleak numbness where pride and hope had once been.

"He ruined everything," Athos yelled, again pointing to Krypto's lifeless body. "That damn dog ruined everything. If only he had left me alone, none of this would've happened. Now you hate me. I can see it in your eyes."

Clark didn't have enough control over his emotions to know how he felt. He could hear the fear and guilt in his son's voice. And Clark had no doubt Athos meant all that he had said. But . . .

"Why are you outside instead of in your bed where you belong?" Clark got to his feet, anger and dread fueling his movements.

His son said nothing.

"_Answer me_, Athos. Why in the hell are you outside and without your bracers?"

The boy shifted his eyes to his mother, a silent plea for help. But Diana gave no quarter.

"You heard your father, Athos. Explain yourself."

"I . . . I . . . I came out for some air. That's it. I told Krypto to go inside and watch over Aunt Selina and Uncle Bruce."

"You're lying. If that's all there was to it, Krypto would've never attacked you. Tell me the truth."

"I can't. If I do, you'll hate me for sure. I don't want you to hate me. I want you to be proud me, like you were earlier."

The boy still cried, and a part of Clark wanted to reach out to his son, to hold and comfort him. But he couldn't. Not yet, perhaps never again. He turned away from the only child he would ever have.

Had it only been minutes ago that Clark and Diana had been enjoying their anniversary and talking of the future that included a well-adjusted Athos and a new baby girl or boy?

Ruined.

Athos was right. It was all ruined.

Clark walked around Diana, removed the blue robe he wore and placed it over his friend. Ten seconds later, Clark was in his Superman armor. Lifting Krypto into his arms, Clark elevated a few feet off of the ground.

"Will you be all right here while I'm gone?"

Diana nodded, her own eyes rimmed red and filled with tears.

"Jeez, I would _never_ hurt her. I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't . . . Please. Please."

Athos stared up at Clark, his mouth stained with what Clark knew was Krypto's blood. The sight sickened him.

He turned to Diana. "Thank Bruce and Selina, and then have J'onzz send them home. This Fortress is no longer safe for them."

Athos' shoulders slumped and his eyes fell to the cold, blood-soaked snow.

"What . . . what are you planning to do with me? Send me away? Kill me?"

Diana gasped, and Clark lifted further into the night sky, no longer able to look upon his son. The fact that the boy thought that killing him was an option Clark would actually consider showed how little Athos had learned from Clark and Diana.

Cradling his beloved Krypto to his chest, Clark flew, not yet ready to say goodbye. Hours later, when he buried his dog under an ancient sentry tree on the Smallville farm, Clark wept once more—for Krypto, for himself, for the second child he and Diana would never have, and for the boy who should have never been born.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Earth-44**

**2030**

**Mount Etna**

"When Aunt Eris? When?"

"Soon, Athos. I once heard patience was a virtue."

Bony shoulders shrugged in that way of hers that told Athos his aunt couldn't be bothered with such human values. He didn't trust her. He pretended he did, of course, but he really did not. Master always said Athos was bright for his age. He believed Master and only trusted him marginally more than he did Aunt Eris.

In their own way, Master and Aunt Eris took care of him—one during the day, the other at night. But they both lied to him, with smiles and earnest eyes. Athos could smell deceit, as much as he could feel it in his too-thin bones. It was a gift, though he often felt it to be more of a curse.

Most days he would rather live in the fantasy world Master had crafted for him, working with his older brothers on Master's many godly inventions. But even that was a lie, for none of the men Athos ate with and worked beside were his true brothers, although they did treat him with a kindness he knew to be genuine. Yet their eyes held a wariness Athos had grown to despise. Sometimes, when Athos was having one of his bad days, he'd see the same in the eyes of his Master—Hephaestus, god of fire, metalworking, stone masonry, and the art of sculpture. And, according to Aunt Eris, his maternal uncle, though the ugly, deformed god had never claimed Athos as nephew and family.

"When?" He repeated, tired of whatever game the goddess was playing with him. For years now she'd promised him, now he wanted her to make good on her promise or to go the hell away.

They sat on his bed, the way they always did when she visited him after everyone had gone to bed for the night. Interesting, or perhaps simply telling, was that Athos had always had his own bedroom while the others shared quarters—two or three men to a room. Despite being the youngest, smallest, and weakest among them, his brothers held a deep-seated fear of Athos. He didn't understand it, but the sweet aroma of their trepidation filled his belly in a most unnatural, satisfying way.

Aunt Eris leaned her tall, willowy frame against the backboard of his bed, dark eyes glaring at him with unhidden frustration.

"Hephaestus visits her, which leaves little reason for Diana to come here."

"You said when I was old enough you would arrange for me to meet my mother. I'm sixteen. How much older must I become before the time is right?"

Athos jumped from the bed, angry with himself for believing the goddess' silky words. He knew from that first night she wasn't as benign as she seemed. But Aunt Eris was Athos' only link to the outside world. He needed her, as much as he hated and mistrusted her forked tongue. She thought him a naïve boy, susceptible to her machinations and manipulations.

Her erroneous assumption amused Athos, but it also served his own purpose. Through Aunt Eris, Athos had learned much about his birth parents, particularly his mother. She'd even shown him pictures and video footage of Diana of Themyscira and Kal-El of Krypton, also known as Wonder Woman and Superman. His parents were respected superheroes, beloved by a great many people.

_What would their adoring fans think of them if they knew they'd given away their son, made him a virtual slave in an underground forge, never able to have a normal life or to see the sun rise and the moon set?_

Athos spun away from Eris, hiding the pain she could so easily read in his blue eyes—eyes that resembled his parents. _Damn them. Why did they reject me, give me away?_

He wanted to know the truth. Dammit, Athos deserved to know the truth. One way or another, he would have it, with or without Aunt Eris' help.

Deep, slow breaths helped him fight back the tempest that lurked too close to the surface. It was as if there was another being living inside Athos. It had always been so, for as long as Athos could remember. A constant companion that developed beside Athos, becoming more powerful the older Athos became, vying, some days, for dominance. Today was one of those days. There was just something about Aunt Eris and her visits that prodded at Athos' inner beast, awaking and tempting it to feed, to devour.

More deep, slow breaths, his back still to Eris. The goddess was doing this to him purposely. For some reason, she wanted the beast inside to come out, no matter the devastation it would wrought. And yes, Athos had come to accept that his childhood companion, the second voice in his head, had deadly, vile intentions, which often played out when Athos dreamed.

Those dreams were of blood, famine, death, and destruction. In the center of all that chaos and pain was Athos, an Athos unlike the man-child he was now. No, in his dream state, Athos was powerful beyond reckoning—mighty and indestructible, a creature with divine blood and an unearthly need to destroy, to starve.

He turned around to face his aunt. "If you can't manage to bring my mother to me, then take me to her." Without waiting for a reply, Athos went to his closet and pulled out his backpack.

Aunt Eris, never one to move quickly, jumped to her feet and dashed to his side, grabbing an arm that was steadily filling the backpack with clothes and supplies.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Packing." With a hard yank, he dislodged his arm from her twig-like fingers.

"You can't leave this place."

Athos slung his backpack over one shoulder. "Watch me. I'm done with this place, done with your little games. If you won't help me, I'll find my parents on my own."

"Without my help, you won't survive five minutes out of this mountain. Hephaestus hasn't prepared you for the real world. All you know is the heat of the forge."

Her calm arrogance grated, but she was at least beginning to show her true self to Athos.

"All I know is what you've wanted me to know. Limited as it may be, the dribs and drabbles you've shared of the outside world and my parents, over the years, should be enough for me to get by. I'm a smart boy. I'll manage just fine without you."

Done with the conversation and his aunt, Athos made his way to his bedroom door. A huge hand grasped his shoulder and dragged him backward, slamming him to the ground when he resisted.

Angry, Athos glared up at the figure who dared to manhandle him. And there she was, the true Aunt Eris—still lean, still nearly bald and over twenty feet tall, her godly strength holding him in place with embarrassing ease.

"You will go nowhere, nephew. This is your home, and this is where you will remain. The world does not need what your presence will bring."

"And it needs chaos, strife, and discord?" Athos struggled, but his efforts proved ineffective and fruitless. "You're nothing but a fucking liar." He spat on the large, pale arm that subdued him. "You never had any intention of bringing my mother to me. I was just a nightly diversion for you, something to fill the boredom of your too-long lived life."

When Eris yanked him to his feet, lifting and holding Athos at eye level, he spat again, hitting the bitch on her taut cheek. He went to spit again, but she dropped him to the hard floor. Large, bare feet rose and kicked him in the ribs, sending Athos against a wall in a painful crumpled heap.

"You disgusting cur, no wonder your parents didn't want you." She kicked him again, breaking another rib. "I can't believe I wasted years on you." More kicks, to his head, Athos hands and arms not enough to shield him from Eris' onslaught. "Hephaestus should've cast your pitiful body into his forge instead of feeding and clothing you. He should've—"

The door to Athos' bedroom cracked, crashed, and fell. Through his bruised arms, Athos saw a red-eyed and seething Hephaestus, the poor door shredded under the god's anger and might.

"You _dare_, Eris?"

The foot that had been about to squash Athos slowly lowered to the floor, shrinking with the rest of Aunt Eris until all that remained was the woman Athos had known most of his life.

"Brother," she crooned, lifting her arms as if to embrace Hephaestus.

"You have no right to be here. I didn't invite you and your presence is unwelcomed."

"Ahhh, you wound me, brother. But I suppose a god shriveled of foot would know little of hospitality."

Moving slowly, Athos began to crawl to the exit, making sure to not cut himself on the jagged pieces of the obliterated door.

"You've been quiet for too long. I should have known you were up to something."

"Me? Up to something, smith? I think not. No, no, that would be you. The keeper of other people's lies . . . and children, apparently."

"You know nothing, Eris. Apollo will not be pleased once he hears of this."

Athos kept crawling while the siblings argued, neither paying him the least bit of attention. Once out of the room and away from the feuding gods, Athos stood and almost fell back to the floor. His head and sides raged with pain. Eris may have broken more than two ribs. Once out of there and recuperated, he would return the favor to the goddess, full measure. But first he had to get out of this prison of a mountain before they realized he was gone.

Holding his side and doing his best to not throw up from the incessant ache in his head, Athos ambled along, sluggishly but surely making his way from the sleeping quarters, through the work areas, and up, up, up, up.

Athos didn't know how long he climbed, and wasn't even sure he was going the right way. But he'd taken the winding path Hephaestus had always told him was off limits to Athos. About now, Athos figured any route Hephaestus didn't want him to explore was the right path to take. So he did, walking for miles until his lungs and legs burned.

Finally, Athos saw a slither of light shining through what looked to be a solid wall of rock. Breathing from a wide-open mouth, Athos moved to the barrier. Lifting his hands, he laid them on the wall. It was as hard and as impenetrable as it appeared.

This was no exit, just a horrible waste of time. Athos had no more energy to expend searching for another way out. He was exhausted, thirsty, and in pain. By this time, Eris and Hephaestus had to know he'd fled while they bickered. They were probably searching for him now.

Athos collapsed to the ground, and his eyes filled with tears. He wept big, wet tears that rolled down sweaty cheeks and onto trembling dry, cracked lips. Phantom arms cradled him to a mother's bosom, and soft, painted lips kissed his forehead. Athos cried harder, giving into the illusion of a mother's love. But no one had ever hugged him, kissed away his tears, or tucked him in at night. And how pathetic was that? What a pitiful existence he'd lived thus far.

He was sixteen, nearly a man, but here he was, shedding tears instead of fighting for his freedom. There was a reason Hephaestus and Eris wanted to keep him locked away, a reason why his parents had turned their backs on him, and a reason why his brothers feared him.

He wanted to know what those reasons were. He wanted . . . to get to the other side of the god damn wall.

Athos dragged himself to his feet and placed his hands back on the wall. This wall was where the path had taken him, where it had ended. Hephaestus was a creative genius. No way would he build a path that led to a dead end.

Athos's hands began gliding over the wall—high and low. He searched for a switch, a device, something brilliant and godly that would open the wall and let him out.

He searched and searched and searched, and found nothing at all.

Rage boiled up like froth, and Athos slammed his fists into the wall—over and over, cutting his hands and shattering bones. When pain and agony surged through his body, he didn't stop, just kept pounding the wall, seeing sixteen years of lonely, parentless nights. His parents hadn't loved him. If they had, Athos wouldn't have been nurtured by a mean-spirited goddess and a crippled god who cared only for his metal automatons.

So Athos kept hitting and kicking the wall, uncaring of the damage he was doing to his body. If he died here, at least it would be an honorable death—man versus nature, enslavement versus emancipation.

Two hours later, Athos dropped to the ground, taking in lungful's of fresh air.

Fresh air?

Cracking an eye that bled, swelled, and then closed when he had used his head as a battering ram, Athos realized he'd broken through the barricade. His body lay half in, half out of the wall, surrounded by rocks and rubble.

Above him, blinding and all together beautiful, was a sight Athos thought he would never behold. Lifting a broken arm, he reached for it, knowing on an unexplainable level the yellow star was for him and him alone.

"You're so b-beautiful. So, so beautiful." Athos groaned, and black spots flooded his vision. But he kept looking skyward, staring at one of his many unattainable dreams. But this one had come true. It was right there—warm, bright, but so very far away.

Athos felt himself slipping away, his tall but fragile frame not meant to withstand all that it had endured this day. With one last satisfying look, blackness claimed Athos, one word taking him under: _Sun_.

* * *

**Earth Prime**

**2014**

**Washington, D.C.**

Diana was such a coward that she shamed herself. She'd fled Clark's apartment as if Cerberus chased her and she a frightened girl of eight. Her fight or flight instinct had taken hold of Diana, with each word spoken by Diana of Mount Olympus. She just wanted the woman to shut up, to go away and to never return.

But there she had been, in Clark's apartment, beautiful, honest, and relaying a tale of a son she loved and feared for. Diana, upon first seeing the woman wrapped in the circle of Clark's arms, had been swamped by a flood of jealousy the likes she'd never before known. Diana hadn't liked the feeling, not one little bit, nor the irrational urge to call a bolt of lightning down on the woman's head. Even now, knowing the truth of the embrace, Diana still saw them together, still felt that moment of debilitating pain when she thought Clark had betrayed her trust.

For the first time, Diana began to comprehend Hera's pain and rage over Zeus' countless acts of infidelity. No amount of hurt excused Hera's reaction, however, the killing of Zeus' demigod children and the mothers who'd unknowingly taken the King of Olympus to their bed. But Diana couldn't deny the urge she'd felt to do bodily harm to the woman when she'd walked into Clark's apartment, him naked except for a towel, hands holding another woman intimately. If it hadn't been for the shock of seeing the woman turn, wearing Diana's face, only the Fates knew what Diana would've done.

Then the woman had begun her story, the lasso giving no sign that she lied. In truth, Diana didn't require the magical properties of the lasso. The other Diana openly wore her emotions and heart. Diana sensed no calculations or even partial truths. If she had stayed, Diana was sure the other woman would've honestly answered all of her questions. And Diana had many questions for the Diana of Mount Olympus.

Right now, it was she who would be tasked with answering questions. She didn't think he would follow, but there he was, flying toward her, his handsome face marred by concern.

"Déjà vu." Clark floated beside her, his body large and imposing.

Diana didn't look at him. Instead, she watched tourists mill about the iconic landmark, taking pictures and enjoying themselves. It was a beautiful structure with seven-foot diameter columns that stretched forty-four feet high. Designed by architect Henry Bacon, the style was similar to a Greek temple, which probably explained why Diana often found herself here when she wanted to think but didn't wish to take her problems with her to Themyscira.

"If he weren't nineteen feet and made of marble, I would be jealous of ole Abe."

Clark told few jokes, but he often used humor to lighten the mood between the two of them.

Diana didn't smile, although she appreciated his effort. And while she'd wanted more time to herself before returning to his apartment, Diana was touched that he'd come after her. He was her weakness, as much as he could also be her strength.

When Clark settled beside her, Diana thought he would ask why she'd run off like a scared field mouse.

Instead, he hugged her—completely disarming Diana.

Clark stroked her hair and held her in a loose embrace, his silent way of telling her she was in control and could end this any time she wished.

Diana didn't wish. She needed this, needed him more than she knew, more than she liked admitting to herself. But she'd given this man her body, her heart, and each day they were together, he threatened to also claim her soul.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

He thought she'd left because of what she'd walked in on.

"I should've known the woman wasn't you. I'm ashamed that I didn't."

Despite his super powers, Clark was like most men. He wasn't shallow like Hal or brooding like Bruce, but he was quite, quite male, which meant he often thought with the wrong organ.

"I'm really sorry. Do you accept my apology?"

"I do, but that's not the reason why I left."

"It isn't, then why?"

He still held her, but Diana couldn't speak the hard-to-tell truth to him while hiding her face against his sturdy chest. For this confession, she needed to meet his eyes.

Diana pushed away from him, not a rejection, just a reliance on her own inner strength.

"Is this about what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Yes."

"Is it why you haven't been around for almost three weeks?"

"It is."

"Is it something I did?"

Diana wondered how many questions Clark would toss out to her before he realized if he exercised a bit more patience Diana would tell him all. Not that she relished the telling, or even his knowing. But she'd put this off for as long as possible. If nothing else, today's unexpected visit from Diana of Mount Olympus was a sign that Diana had waited too long.

"It's something we both did."

"I don't understand."

"I know." Diana gathered her nerves and just decided to take the plunge. "I had a miscarriage."

Clark stared at her, dumfounded. "Wait. What? You had what?"

"You heard me correctly, a miscarriage."

"That's not possible, that would mean you were pregnant." Hands went to his face and rubbed over wide eyes. "Diana, don't tell me you were pregnant and I didn't know."

"I didn't know myself, Clark."

"So, how . . .?"

"After a workout, I began to cramp. I drank bottles of water and laid down. At some point, I must've fallen asleep. I slept for an hour or so but was awakened by horrible abdominal pains. Zora was at home and came running when I called her."

"My god, Diana, you were . . ."

He couldn't finish, and Diana didn't blame him. She fought to forget that wretched day. But her mind had a way of replaying the unpleasant memory when she slept.

"By the time Hessia arrived, I was bleeding profusely. It didn't take long for me to lose the baby I hadn't known I carried. It was when Hessia examined me that it all became clear."

She knew her matter of fact tone lacked the gut wrenching emotion she felt. It was the only way she could get through this, the only way to not lose herself in tears of confusion and loss.

Diana and Clark weren't ready for a baby. They hadn't talked of a future together. They took each day as it came, assuming they would be together but knowing and understanding that they may not. But a child bound a man and a woman, whether they were in a romantic relationship or not. Diana didn't want that, no more than she wanted to give birth to a child tainted with the Doomsday virus.

"I-I scanned you earlier. I saw nothing wrong with you." Where Diana's voice was unemotional and calm, Clark's was pitched uncharacteristically high. "This is crazy. You're perfect on the inside, no sign of a pregnancy or a miscarriage."

"Divine blood and Hessia's healing crystal. After a few hours of sleep, I was as good as new—physically anyway." Over the last three weeks, Diana had experienced a myriad of emotions—relief, sadness, anger. "I should have told you sooner than this, but I didn't know how."

"Because you were upset with me."

"Not just that, but yes, I was angry with you, angry at myself. I knew something was wrong with you that night but—"

"You didn't know, not really. But I did. I knew I was changing, though I tried to deny it. This is all my fault. Damn me to hell. What you went through was my fault. No wonder you didn't want to see me."

This was the second reason it had taken Diana so long to tell Clark about the baby and miscarriage. The baby was gone and Diana was healthy again. What good would Clark's guilt do either of them?

"Like the Superman from Diana's Earth, I impregnated you that night. Now I know why you acted the way you did when Diana of Mount Olympus told us her story, why you ran away without a word or glance my way. If our baby had lived, do you think it would've carried the Doomsday virus? Do you think that's the reason why you miscarried?"

"I don't know the answer to either of those questions, but I've asked myself those same questions and many, many more."

"And what did you come up with?"

She ran a hand over her brow and sighed. "Fate."

"That's no answer at all. Not nearly good enough to explain what happened to you or what may have happened if you carried our child to term."

Perhaps not, but it was all the explanation Diana had.

"So what does this mean for the two of us? Where do we go from here?"

She closed her eyes and sighed again. "I don't know, Clark. I just don't know."

A third reason why Diana had stayed away. She had no more answers for Clark than she did for herself. So they sat there, side by side on the Lincoln Memorial where they'd shared their first kiss. Diana had run away from Clark that day too, unsure of her feelings for him or his for her. This time she stayed where she was, but the uncertainty of then and now was truly that déjà vu moment Clark had spoken of earlier.

He slipped a hand gone cold into Diana's. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

For the first time in her life, Diana realized that love may not be enough. It didn't solve all problems or take away the hurt. What it did do was make walking away damn hard, the pain as great as losing their child in a sea of unforgiving crimson.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Earth-44**

**2030**

**Paradise Island**

A large, comforting hand rubbed Diana's back. "That's it, sweetheart. You're doing fine. Everything will be fine."

Diana stopped counting how many times her husband had said those words to her. Clark was set on repeat, and he didn't seem to notice. They were words meant to reassure, to soothe, but they only served to remind Diana of her failure of sixteen years ago.

She closed her eyes, hating the memory and the gnawing pain of failure. Her companion for nearly two decades.

But she'd been given a second chance, her mind kept reminding her—a second chance to do what she'd failed to accomplish the first time. Diana regulated her breathing, the way Hessia had taught her during Diana's first pregnancy. In the intervening years, Diana hadn't forgotten, so she breathed slowly now, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

Hippolyta held Diana's left hand through each contraction, her breathing much faster than Diana's, blue eyes shadowed with the same fear and concern Diana glimpsed whenever she looked at Clark. In that moment, Diana wished she had the power to take away their hurt. She'd felt the same in the past, especially after she'd awoken to learn her son had died in childbirth. By the time she'd healed from the arduous birth, it had been days and Athos' infant body already laid to rest. It was then Diana noticed the change in the way her husband and mother looked at her, and how they looked at each other.

There was something unspoken between Clark and Hippolyta that hadn't existed prior to that fateful day. They had experienced Athos's death and Diana's near death together. Both had deeply shaken the pair, to the point of them being anxious and overly cautious when Diana learned of her second pregnancy.

After losing Athos, Diana sunk into a depression she thought herself too strong of character to succumb to, but she'd been wrong. Months, it had taken her months to pull herself from her emotional malaise. She'd stayed in Themyscira, wallowing in self-pity and guilt, pushing away all who wanted to help her, including her husband.

Clark couldn't help her, he only served to remind Diana of her failure to bring their child safely into this world. During those irrational days, weeks, and months, Diana had even hated Clark—hated him for coming to her bed when he was sick with the Doomsday virus, hated him for burying their child without her, hated him for loving her more than their dead baby, and hated him for kissing her on the Lincoln Memorial, forever twining their Fates.

She'd hated Clark as much as she'd loved him. It was that love, and Clark's persistence that helped Diana drive away the demons of her mind, heart, and soul. Yet some of the old demons remained, hissing in her ear that she didn't deserve this second chance at motherhood, that a child of an Amazon and Kryptonian was an abomination, a threat to humanity.

Most days Diana ignored the vile whispers that tried to eat away at her hopes and dreams. Today, this day when her child would either come screaming into this world with life and vigor or shatter into a thousand crystals of depleted sunshine, the demons' voices swam about the birthing room, wraiths ready to swoop in and devour what would be left of Diana if she lost another child.

At the sound of knocking, Diana opened her eyes.

With irritation, Hippolyta told Hessia's assistant to "See who dares to intrude on this moment. I told everyone we should not be disturbed."

"Diana is doing well, Hippolyta, no need to worry."

Diana gave Hessia a grateful smile. There were few Amazons her mother would listen to, thankfully, Hessia was one of them.

The door opened, and Diana heard low talking. She looked up at her husband, who had his eyes trained on Diana.

"What are they saying?"

"The queen has a visitor."

Before Clark could elaborate, the assistant returned.

"Your highness, Hephaestus has come for a visit."

Hippolyta frowned, her hand still laced with Diana's. "Tell him to return later. The princess is in labor. I'm sure he will understand."

"Yes, well, he was already told about Princess Diana's condition. But he says it's an emergency, and that he must speak with you or Superman immediately."

Hippolyta's grip grew tighter, a force that would've crushed the hand of a weaker person.

"Mother? What's wrong?"

All the color had drained from Hippolyta's face, as if she had seen the demons of Diana's nightmares. Then she glanced from Hessia to Clark. Something passed between the three of them—cold and unsettling.

"Tell me what's going on. What's so important that Hephaestus would seek out the Queen of the Amazons?" She lifted her gaze up to Clark again. "And what do you have to do with Hephaestus' emergency?"

"I have no idea why your brother is here."

Clark didn't lie often or even particularly well. But there was a lie somewhere in his answer. Clark may not have known why Hephaestus had come to Paradise Island, but Diana had no doubt Clark had an idea what his visit was about.

Hippolyta addressed Hessia's assistant. "Please have a guard ask Hera to see to her son. Whatever news the smith brings will have to wait until after my daughter has given birth."

"The same goes for me. I'm not leaving my wife."

Of course he wasn't, although Diana had been in labor a scant hour. Diana wasn't yet fully dilated, which meant her mother or husband could meet with Hephaestus and be back long before she gave birth.

She didn't bother with the suggestion, knowing both to be too stubborn to consider leaving her.

Mylena, Hessia's assistant, returned to the door and delivered the message to the guard.

The increased tension in the birthing room threatened to suffocate Diana, and it all came from Hippolyta, Clark, and Hessia.

"Whatever it is, I want to know."

All three opened their mouths then slammed them shut.

"It's nothing, sweetheart. You don't need any stress right now. Just focus on delivering our baby. I'll take care of everything else."

Diana didn't need Clark's reminder of her duty. She damn well knew, if not for her weakness, their son would've survived. He would be a teenager now—sixteen, in fact.

Clark was right, though, Diana didn't need the additional stress. But she also didn't appreciate that her mother and husband were lying to her, which wasn't like them at all.

Diana closed her eyes again and concentrated on the tiny life within. This pregnancy had been nothing like the first. Diana had gained weight instead of losing it, the way she had with Athos. She didn't awake with stomach cramps in the middle of the night or experience nausea throughout the day. Athos had taken so much from Diana, her pregnancy an ordeal that nearly killed her. In the end, however, it was Athos who'd died.

_A child shouldn't suffer for the weakness of his mother. I won't make the same mistake twice._

Warm lips to her forehead had Diana opening her eyes. Hessia and Hippolyta were now deep in conversation on the other side of the room, leaving only Clark at her side.

He was so handsome, even staring at her with worried eyes.

"The baby will be fine."

"That's supposed to be my line." He swept a few unruly locks away from Diana's eyes. "I wasn't sure if you would ever want to try to have another child."

After Diana had emerged from her half-year of depression and mourning, Clark had taken her home to Metropolis. Physically, Diana was at one hundred percent a week after giving birth to Athos, but it had taken years before Diana would even consider becoming pregnant again.

"We're better for having waited. We grew up." They learned what it meant to be husband and wife. During those six months of near-isolation, Diana had contemplated letting Clark go. It would've been the easiest and most difficult thing in the world to do, ending their hasty marriage. Even after returning home with Clark, there were times Diana questioned whether they were making a mistake, playing the role of a family when the main reason for their marriage was dead and buried.

"We're stronger than his death, Diana. More than it, too. We always have been."

So he'd told her throughout the years.

"I know."

Clark kissed her forehead again. "Sometimes I don't think you do. Our love has to be enough. Please, Diana, let it be enough."

She didn't understand and wanted to ask Clark to explain. But she was hit by another contraction. He held her hands through it, their gazes locked, connected and disconnected in a way that sent foreboding shivers through her, more potent than the contraction wracking her body.

"I love you."

Clark said it as if it were a confession, a justification, and an apology, wrapped into one confusing declaration.

He said nothing more when Hessia and Hippolyta returned to Diana's side.

Hessia checked Diana's vitals and smiled. "You're doing wonderful. The little princess will be here before you know it."

Diana cut her eye at Clark, who only shrugged.

"Did you honestly think I could keep the gender a secret from these two?"

No, she didn't, but Mera, Selina, and Zola kept buying her pink, white, or yellow baby clothes and accessories, which meant the entire League knew Diana and Clark were having a girl.

"Are you in pain?" Hessia asked, her doctor's hands gentle as she examined Diana's round belly. "I have the crystals available, if you require relief."

"It's manageable. I think I'll be fine."

And she was, to everyone's relief.

Again, the second time around proved to be nothing like the first. Diana didn't pass out from the pain, nor did she bleed beyond what was normal for a natural birth. Through it all, Clark was there, rubbing her back and whispering words of encouragement and love in her ear.

In the end, they had a healthy baby girl, as pink-and-white as all those clothes Diana's friends had brought her.

Through exhausted eyes, Diana watched Clark hold their daughter. An aura of thankful joy shimmered about him, so bright it threatened to blind Diana.

"We have a daughter." As he'd done Diana many times tonight, Clark kissed their daughter's forehead. "Hessia said she's the picture of health. She's perfect, just perfect."

Their son hadn't been perfect or a picture of health, which was the reason he hadn't survived. Clark's comparison was unmistakable. But the life of one child could not make up for the life of another, no matter how wanted and loved the second child.

"Eyes, nose, mouth, and hair, she looks just like you, Diana. So beautiful. Our little girl is so beautiful."

She was the most precious sight Diana had ever beheld, next to seeing Clark hold his daughter in his arms, awe and love in his adoring eyes.

"So, what shall we call her? Last time I checked, our list was up to twenty names, and that doesn't include the suggestions from your mother and sisters."

Clark settled onto the bed beside Diana, their sleeping daughter, wrapped in a blanket, between them.

"I can't believe she's asleep. My mother said the only thing I did for the first forty-eight hours after my birth was cry, breastfeed, and cause mischief."

Clark laughed. "How could you have possibly caused mischief when you were a day old?"

"I have no idea, but my mother swears it's true."

Clark arched a perfect set of dark brows at Diana, his own eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I can attest to your naughty nature, Princess Diana. It had to begin somewhere."

"So says the man who pulled me into every closet and alcove on the Watchtower."

"I didn't hear you complaining."

"How could I when your tongue was buried down my throat."

A kiss to her nose. "Like I said, I didn't hear you complaining. Anyway, let's name our daughter before she awakens and begins her mischief."

They laid in silence for several minutes, thinking on the perfect name for their perfect baby girl.

"What about Astra Lara-El."

To her surprise, Clark shook his head in vehement disapproval. "She's nothing like Athos."

The hardness in his tone also surprised Diana. She didn't understand.

"Astra means star. I thought it a fitting name, because she's our little star."

"It's a lovely name, Diana, truly it is. But I don't think you should pick a name that will remind you of the child we lost. If you don't mind, I would rather not name our daughter Astra, or any name close to that of Athos."

The gnawing foreboding was back, throbbing and aching and ruining what should be a wonderful moment between the two of them.

"Then you select."

He smiled. "I will. What about Eleodora Lara-El? We could call her Dora for short, if you like."

"You're absolutely amazing. Out of all the Greek names you researched, I should've known you would find one that has to do with the sun."

Clark's smile widened into a full-on grin. "'She who came from the sun.' It's perfect, like her. So, what do you think?"

Diana ran the name over in her mind, comparing it to her selection. She liked the name Eleodora well enough, though she still preferred Astra.

"I'm not sure, Clark. Sorry."

"Oh, well, okay. I guess I can get our list and we can start from there."

They didn't need the list. Diana and Clark knew it by heart, so many times had they added and omitted names, over the last few months. They were out of sync, disagreeing without being openly disagreeable. This wasn't like them. At least it hadn't been since the early years of their marriage.

For long minutes, they said nothing, each nursing their private thoughts, the sleeping child not the one that was truly between them. No, that would be Athos, the baby whose name it had taken them only minutes to agree upon.

"Katlyn Kal-El?" Diana suggested into the oppressive silence.

"Philomena?" was Clark's counter.

They rejected each other's suggestion and drifted into another bout of uncomfortable silence.

Diana closed her eyes, exhausted and frustrated. Their daughter needed a name. Why in Hades was it so hard for them to agree upon one?

When Diana awoke, it was to a crying and hungry daughter.

And Clark was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Clark entered the throne room, knowing, without having to be told, where Hippolyta, Hera, and Hessia were. Closing the tall, marble doors behind him, Clark took in the assembled group. Indeed, the three women were there, along with Hephaestus.

They sat around a rectangular table, the queen at the head, Hephaestus to her immediate right and the others to her left. The grim faces told the story Clark dreaded since hearing of the god's arrival.

Sixteen years. Had it only been sixteen years? Clark thought he would have longer, although he knew this day would come. How could it not? Secrets, even among gods, didn't stay hidden forever.

"How are Diana and the baby?" The queen asked.

When it came to Diana's happiness and safety, Clark and Hippolyta were of one accord. The queen was an unexpected and welcomed ally. Without her, Clark could've so easily lost Diana. When Diana had refused to return to Metropolis with Clark, choosing to stay on Paradise Island, Clark thought Hippolyta would use their separation to turn Diana against him.

But she hadn't. She loved Diana more than she despised the way they had come to be man and wife. Or perhaps she thought, with time, Diana would come to see her marriage and Clark as a horrible mistake in need of rectifying.

Although she had never admitted it to him, no more than Clark had ever dared ask, Clark knew Diana had given serious thought to ending their marriage. In truth, he didn't blame her. The pregnancy and everything afterward had been his doing. She almost died because of him and had fallen into such a wretched state of depression that it burned at Clark's heart to see his strong Amazon turn into a shell of her warrior self.

Yet Diana had eventually returned to herself, and then to him. She rejoined the League, and that had helped restore much of her vitality for life. The first five years after losing Athos had been the most difficult—for them both. But they'd persevered and had come out of it stronger, wiser, and more in love than ever before.

_When we went through all of that, Diana didn't know the truth. Everyone at this table kept it from her._

Yes, they had all lied to Diana. And, based on Hephaestus' presence and his sour expression, the truth had come knocking.

Clark couldn't sit like the others, so he stood at the other end of the table.

"They're fine, asleep when I left."

"Congratulations," came Hephaestus' deep, rough voice. "What shall I call this new niece of mine?"

They all looked to Clark expectantly, wanting to linger in the goodness of this night before the ugliness overran them. But Clark had no good news to deliver, despite Diana's delivery of a stunningly healthy baby girl. His daughter's birth had brought nothing but happiness, Diana's pregnancy free of the pain, weight loss, and fatigue she'd experienced with Athos. Their daughter was meant to be, their son, unfortunately, had not.

"We haven't decided on one yet. We will soon, though," Clark said quickly, when four sets of judgmental eyes bore into him." Under the weight of their gazes and Clark's fear and guilt, he pulled out a chair and sat. "None of you are gathered here to discuss the baby's name. So we might as well get on with it."

"You're right, we're here to discuss what to do about Athos," Hippolyta said, her gaze swinging to Hephaestus in disappointment. "It seems his caretaker has misplaced his charge."

Clark didn't bother with shock, for he wasn't at all surprised. What else would bring Hephaestus to Paradise Island in the middle of the night, waiting three hours just to speak with Hippolyta and Clark?

"How?" Clark asked, not that it mattered. Still, Clark wanted to know what had gone wrong, after all these years.

"Eris," Hera answered instead. "According to Hephaestus, Eris is involved in this up to her devious, deceitful mouth."

"I caught her attacking the boy in his room. When I intervened, questioned her presence in my home, Athos slipped away."

"And you didn't notice?" The angry frustration in Hippolyta's question reverberated off the walls.

"We argued, which gave Athos enough time to escape. We searched, but we couldn't find him."

"Are you saying my son made it out of the mountain or that he is lost somewhere in that maze?"

Hephaestus' red eyes and pointy eyeteeth always gave the impression of him being displeased, at himself, his family, or the world, Clark could never tell. Out of all her siblings, Diana most loved and trusted Hephaestus, which only meant his betrayal would hurt her that much more.

In their efforts to protect Diana, her family had lied to and deceived her, including a husband who'd crept from her bed while she and their newborn slept in peaceful ignorance.

"One of the search parties I sent after Athos stumbled across a destroyed wall. It led to the outside, but they found no Athos."

No one spoke. All knew the implication of Athos coming into contact with the outside world. Yet none but Clark understood how precisely dangerous an alone, frightened, and inexperienced Kryptonian could be under the rays of a yellow sun.

"He broke through that wall with his bare hands. He must not have found the lever to open the gateway. There was blood everywhere. But the trail ended ten miles away from the mountain. From there, we couldn't track him."

"Artemis could, if she were so inclined," Hera said.

She steepled her fingers, her face awash with thoughts. The woman hadn't aged since the first time Clark had met the former goddess. In his bid for power and the throne of Mount Olympus, Apollo had taken away Hera's godly powers, leaving her mortal and vulnerable. Diana had taken Hera in. Over time, a friendship developed between them, despite Hera having turned Hippolyta into a clay statue and the Amazons to snakes, upon learning of the Amazon queen's affair with Zeus.

After fighting by her brother Apollo's side to vanquish Hera and Zeus's first born son, Apollo offered Diana a boon. With the hope of having her mother and sisters returned and of giving Hera back her godhood, Diana asked for exactly that, knowing only Hera could undo her own magical spell. Instead of restoring Hera her godhood, Apollo only returned to her enough magic for Hera to undo her cruel spell.

When Diana and Clark married, Hippolyta invited Hera to live among the Amazons—a peace offering from one queen to another. So here she'd stayed, reaping the benefits of living on an island she created for her loyal worshippers, granting them ageless beauty, which she herself now enjoyed for as long as she remained on the island.

"Or perhaps Apollo could be persuaded to use his viewing pool to locate the boy." Hera said to Hephaestus, "I assume that's how Eris learned of Diana's son. Apollo would not have told her. He knows what she's like, what she would do with such juicy information. By the way, where is that conniving daughter of mine?"

"I have no idea. When we realized Athos was missing, she disappeared. She could be anywhere."

Clark stood, the chair tumbling to the ground with the force of his movement.

Everyone stared at him.

"Eris is looking for Athos, maybe to finish whatever it was you walked in on, Hephaestus. I have to find him first. Diana may not forgive me for lying to her all these years, but I won't be able to forgive myself if I sit here and do nothing while a crazed goddess hunts my son and kills him."

Clark stalked away from the table and out of the throne room. He had no right to claim the child he'd given away. But none of that mattered, Athos was of his flesh. He and Diana had created him, and Clark wouldn't let harm come to him.

So Clark flew to Mount Etna where the trail began. The blood Hephaestus had spoken of was easy enough for Clark to see, even if the sun overhead wasn't burning bright, fueling him as much as it was surely fueling Athos.

For hundreds of miles, Clark followed the trail, invisible to the human eye. With each mile he flew, getting closer to the son he'd abandoned, the same feeling of wrongness that plagued Clark during Diana's pregnancy with Athos assaulted him now. Saving his son was both the right and wrong thing to do, just as when he'd caught him when Hippolyta had thrown baby Athos from the cliff.

What would Clark do with the boy once he found him? Take him back to Hephaestus? To Paradise Island and Diana? What would he tell Diana? How would she react?

Too many disturbing, life altering questions whirled about Clark's head, none of which he wanted to think too deeply on. So he thought of Diana, which wasn't much better than avoiding the inescapable questions.

Clark saw her in his mind's eye, glowing and stunning after giving birth to their daughter. Diana must be awake by now, wondering where her husband had gotten off to only two hours after giving birth to their child. A child whose name they couldn't agree on, a sure sign of bad things between them to come.

_She won't forgive you, Clark, _the fearful, guilty side of him thought.

_Not right away, but she will, in time. _That was his hopeful, maybe even naïve side. This was the side of Clark that believed in him and Diana, believed their love was greater than Clark's lies, greater than Diana's hurt and pain of losing Athos.

_No, she won't. Even if she does, she won't stay. Why should she, after all you put her through? You've already lost her. Face facts._

_I haven't lost anything, dammit. Shut the hell up. I haven't lost Diana. She'll understand. She has to understand._

_She won't. _

_She will. I told you to shut up. Just shut up and go away._

_You've spent sixteen years lying to Diana, now you're lying to yourself. Fine, I'll shut up, but I can't go away. I'm a part of you—the ugly, hard to accept truth, your fear and your conscience._

_I said go the hell awa—_

Clark came to a careening stop. Hovering thousands of feet in the air, he listened, knowing he'd heard a familiar sing-song voice below.

He listened, waited, and then heard it again.

"Come out, come out wherever you are."

Thinking of only saving the son that seemed destined to ruin Clark's happiness with Diana, Superman shot toward his inevitable past and straight into his abysmal future.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Earth-16**

**2027**

**Fortress of Solitude**

When Diana was a girl, she used to dream of having a mother, father, and a house they called their own, a house they resided in together, a house of love and laughter. She'd nursed that little girl's dream for many years, feeling guilty the next morning, sitting across the breakfast table from Hippolyta, ashamed for wanting more, ashamed for thinking her mother's love and presence weren't enough, ashamed for not appreciating the family she did have.

Once learning of her true parentage, Diana often wondered what Hippolyta saw when she gazed upon Diana, what she thought of the child she'd brought into this world, a product of lust, sin, and a woman's unrequited love and shattered dreams.

Her mother once told Diana she never regretted having her, and Diana had believed Hippolyta. As angry and hurt Diana had been, learning of the lie her mother and closest allies had kept from her for all of her young twenty-three years of life, Diana's heart recognized the truth of her mother's words, the truth in the teary blue eyes Diana had inherited.

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, was, like Diana, a woman with flaws but not a flawed woman. The distinction not a matter of semantics but of humanity, of growth, of life. It was on that day, the day a little girl's dream and a young woman's naivete came together, crashing and burning into bits of charred realization that Diana's relationship with her mother forever changed.

In the end, the change, as soul rendering as it had been, marked a necessary turning point in her life, a defining moment of clarity, of pain, and eventually of forgiveness and rebirth. Diana and Hippolyta rarely spoke of those times now, the wounds having long since healed, shame and regret a distant, ugly memory. But from that cauldron of messy, mixed emotions, hot tears and a hotter heart, came a determination to know, to understand, and to accept.

Acceptance, such an overly simplistic ideal, so easy to do when acceptance didn't challenge one's values and beliefs—one's very core and beating heart.

"Are you ready, Diana?"

Realizing she'd slipped into her second silent reflection since convening in the living room, Clark on the sofa beside her, Athos on the floor at her feet, Diana wished, for the thousandths time, she didn't have to do this, that it wasn't necessary and critical to the future of her family. But it was. The Fates help her, Diana saw no other way, knew not how to discern hope from faith from truth. At least not when it came to Athos, Clark and Diana not as critical, not as cautious as they normally were with villains. But that was just it, Athos was no villain. He was their son. A son who'd viciously killed Krypto, his father's faithful and loving boyhood friend.

That truth, a sour pill to swallow, still stuck in Diana's throat, impeding her breathing each time she looked upon the child she'd given birth to, the child she'd raised to value life and to love peace. How could such a child then . . .?

Diana reached for her lasso. The gold, corded rope as much a staple in her life as the bracers she'd passed on to Athos. She'd hoped the bracers would help her son appreciate the importance of restraint, of control, developing a healthy respect for his powers, the way they had done for her.

In thinking or perhaps only a foolish mother's hope, Diana believed Athos to be like her and Clark, only needing proper guidance, patience, and understanding to develop into a man of morals, a man of worth, a man of peace, justice, and integrity.

A gift from her mother, forged by her brother, Hephaestus, the Lasso of Truth, for many, symbolized much of what Wonder Woman stood for. But the truth, too easily distorted, manipulated, and ignored was no panacea. Often, the truth brought with it pain and heartache—ignorance no longer bliss for those ensconced in their own dream worlds, having weaved a reality that shielded and protected, as much as it deceived and denied.

All of this, Diana knew, sliding onto the floor beside her son, unfurled lasso in her hand, explained why she'd never done what she was about to do. After Krypto, well, in good conscience, she had no choice.

Clark, angry and distant since the death of his dog, could barely stand to be in the same room with Athos. Even after two weeks, Clark still couldn't bring himself to share his thoughts with Diana. Her husband had effectively shut down, robotically moving through his days, unwilling or perhaps incapable of putting voice to the myriad of emotions that had to be streaming through him.

Diana understood, giving her husband space, but not too much, wanting him to know she was there for him whenever he needed her. Which always came at night, Clark spooning against Diana, face buried in her hair, tears silent and oh so heartbreaking.

He was just as silent now, having agreed with Diana when she made the suggestion, two days ago, to use the lasso on Athos. He'd asked her only one thing: "Are you sure?"

Yes, then, and yes now, certain it needed doing, certain she wouldn't like the revealed truth.

"I've explained the process to you already, Athos. Do you have any questions before we get started?"

The boy's wary eyes darted up and to his father. They didn't linger there long before dropping back to Diana.

Like Clark, Athos had spent the last two weeks a shell of himself, holed up in his room, venturing out for meals only then scurrying back to his room as soon as he saw his father. Despite his cruelty when he'd fought Krypto with such savagery, Diana knew genuine shame and regret when she saw it, and Diana could see both within the fourteen-year old. The lasso would allow her to see even more - to see his soul.

While nervous hands may have fidgeted with the hem of his Gotham A's baseball shirt, Athos managed to give Diana a wan smile. When he smiled like that, shy yet captivating, he looked so much like Clark – devastatingly handsome with the merest hint of knowing arrogance.

Diana's heart squeezed, a painful constricting of the vital organ that left her breathless. These two males—Clark and Athos—meant everything to Diana, alike yet so very different—too different. She loved them dearly, fiercely. Clark her radiant sun, Athos her rocky moon—both essential in her starry universe.

"No, Mother, I have no questions. I know you would never ask me to do anything that would hurt me."

Athos was right, of course. Diana could never, would never harm her child. Yet his absolute faith, unwavering trust in her scolded from the inside-out. They were all gathered here, on this cold, rainy Friday evening because Clark and Diana's faith and trust in their son had been mercilessly shattered, drained morbidly from them as thick and red as Krypto's pooled blood, lifeless form.

"Once I wrap you in my lasso, your secrets will no longer be your own. There will be no part of you closed to me, no truth I can't unearth, even if you resist. Do you understand?"

"You want to see all of me, even the me I pretend doesn't exist, the me I wish didn't exist."

Diana heard Clark suck in a breath, and she wondered if Athos' confession reminded Clark of when he'd been infected with the Doomsday virus, of when he'd hidden in his apartment, knowing what was happening to him and so very afraid of the beast lurking within, wanting to come out and kill.

To Diana's surprise, Athos took hold of the lasso, wrapped it around his waist, knotted it, and then gave the remainder back to Diana.

With sad but resolute eyes, Athos looked up at his father. "I want you to know. I want you to see. For once, I need you to see all of me—the boy and the beast." Eyes lowered to meet Diana's. "Go as deep as you like. I won't resist."

Diana hadn't expected such brave compliance, so sure was she the boy would covet his secrets, his sins. For the probe Diana was about to subject Athos to invaded a person's privacy on the most intimate level. Rarely did she engage in such a deep investigation, keeping most of her explorations of villains and criminals shallow, because to touch someone's soul was to _be touched _by that soul. A nauseous, vile sensation Diana never relished, especially when the person on the other end of the lasso defied all moral character and goodness.

Yet her son, a teenager on the cusp of young adulthood, sought the truth as much as Diana and Clark did. This single act of courage gave Diana the slightest taste of renewed hope, hope she quickly crushed when an unbidden image of Clark crying over a dead and bloody Krypto came to her mind. No, Diana could no longer afford the luxury of a mother's blind hope, the naïve girl she'd once been, dreaming of a family that could never be, would never be.

This was her reality, her family—for better or for worse.

She gripped the lasso, the feel comfortable, perfect, and familiar.

Closing her eyes, she opened her mind and godly senses, merging her divine will with the lasso's pulsing magic. For something so banal in appearance, the lasso was exquisite in its magical, godly design, capable of so much more than ferreting out truth from lies.

The sensation of aligning her divinity with that of the lasso's magical properties always sent a fission of untamed power through Diana—a mild shock of lightning that fortified and affirmed.

When she'd first used the lasso, plumes of lightning magic easily coalescing with her spirit, Diana should've known the truth of her heritage then. But the idea of being the daughter of the King of Olympus was so improbable only a girl utterly desperate for a father's love and attention would entertain such a foolish thought. Diana may have secretly wished she had a father, but Diana never wanted or even expected that person would turn out to be Zeus. Even now, at the age of thirty-eight, Diana still had no father, for Zeus never acknowledged her existence. The pain of a father's silent rejection was one Diana had only ever shared with Clark, although she suspected Hippolyta knew.

Floating on magical currents, she allowed her mind to be transported into the lasso, following its lead as much as it heeded her demand.

_Show me, _she said to the lasso. _Show me the truth of Athos Kal-El's soul._

"Show me," she said aloud to her son. "Show me the truth of your soul, your heart."

As always, the initial image shown like the thickest of London fogs—gray-and-black and impenetrable to the naked eye, cold and forbidding and utterly unwelcoming, especially when the person resisted.

But Athos, true to his word, did not resist. The moment Diana and the lasso merged, finding Athos' senses and slipping inside, she felt his acquiescence to her gentle probing. His mental shields, natural defenses everyone possessed, to vary levels of strength and effectiveness, lowered and permitted Diana entrance.

In she went, the fog slowly but surely receding, a retreating tide of dark, malevolent waves, displeased with being relegated to nothing more than snarling, background noise.

Even with the fog gone, spirit-depleting darkness remained, surrounding Diana with disapproving hisses and warning growls.

"Show me," she repeated, her tone soft but firm. "Light my path and show me the truth."

Diana held the lasso tighter, wrapping it around a hand and moving closer to Athos, their knees touching.

That was it, the physical contact in the real world they needed. On the spiritual plane, the magical plane, a hand reached out and found Diana's. Child small, the hand tugged until Diana allowed herself to be led forward, trusting the invisible spirit to show her the truth she sought.

So Diana followed a path she could not see, could not feel, could not sense in any way. All that existed were shadows and a tiny hand she hadn't felt since Athos was a boy of five.

Straight.

Left.

Right.

Straight.

Left.

Right.

Straight.

Left.

Right.

The zigzag pattern, one only a child would create, revealed a different truth. This circuitous route to Athos' soul was, in truth, a form of resistance, though she doubted her son even realized what he was doing. Self-protection, she knew, was nearly as powerful as love, as fear.

Diana leaned close to Athos and whispered in his ear. "Don't be afraid, darling, you can show Mother all."

For long minutes, he didn't reply, just sat, crossed-legged, eyes cast down to the lasso around his waist, hands still toying with the hem of his shirt.

Diana didn't want to compel Athos, didn't want to take what he didn't want to give. But she would, she always did. The Lasso of Truth was an invader of privacy, a demolisher of free will. No matter the good intent of the wielder, Diana knew each time she used the lasso she took what wasn't voluntarily given. Her actions were for the greater good, she always told herself. That truth, however, made the act no less a violation.

But today, with her son, she would prefer his consent. She would prefer to preserve his dignity by allowing him to willingly choose to reveal his soul. But was it truly a choice when Athos knew, with one forceful command, Diana could make him submit?

The answer, Diana knew, resided in a murky, gray area between right and wrong, yes and no, go and stop.

Just when she thought she would have to compel the truth from Athos, she felt the grip from the spiritual hand tighten then begin to tug her along again.

Diana's spirit followed.

The surroundings hadn't changed. The cloak of protective darkness as cloying as ever, but the route mercifully short this time.

When they stopped, the hand slipped out from hers and, like a stage curtain pulled to the sides, disclosing what lay behind, so too did the cloak of darkness lift and move.

There, beside Diana, face as pale as newly fallen snow, stood Athos, five years, if a day. Diana didn't understand the significance or perhaps symbolism in Athos appearing to her at such a young age. She knew it to be important, but, right now, her mind couldn't latch onto the relevance of having Athos' five-year old self serve as her guide to his soul.

Forcing her eyes away from the child and upward, Diana stared at what the curtain of darkness had revealed.

Diana stared, heart pounded, blood chilled and stopped flowing.

Three steel cages - small, medium, and large, each with thick, sturdy bars.

The smallest of the cages, empty and open, looked as if it could hold a dog the size of a German Shepherd or . . .

Diana swung her eyes down to Athos, who, _no, no, no_, was walking towards that empty, opened cage.

Dropping to all fours, Athos crawled inside the cage and shut the door behind him, blue eyes big and round and filled with baby tears.

"_This is where I belong."_

No, he didn't. No child belonged in a cage, not Athos, not her son.

Diana went to move to him, hating seeing her child caged like some common beast of burden, but she caught herself, recalling where she was and why she was there.

_To learn the truth. Yes, to learn the truth, no matter how painful._

Diana stalled her forward progress, compelling her spirit to calm and think clearly.

She looked at the five-year old Athos in his cage. Nothing prevented him from entering and exiting at will. No locks or chains bound him or the cage, which probably meant this version of Athos, while in a cage, was of threat to no one.

Willing her eyes away from the smallest of the cages, Diana directed her attention to the cage in the middle, the medium one in size.

Diana closed her eyes and breathed deeply. After seeing five-year old Athos crawl into the cage, she should not have been surprised to see an older Athos in the next cage. But the shock of seeing her son, older than he was now—eighteen or twenty—still gouged at every part of Diana that made her a mother.

Tall as Clark but not nearly as muscular, eyes an incomprehensible blend of blue, black, and lightning white, clad only in a pair of shorts, Athos stared at Diana. Clawed hands gripped the bars separating them, razor-sharp fangs jutted from below upper lip. The white of the incisors glistened like deadly daggers in the morbid light.

Diana approached the cage, unable to stop herself. With a surprisingly steady hand, she reached out and touched a clawed hand of her son.

Athos growled low in his throat, widening his mouth to show more of his lethal teeth.

Diana raised her other hand and brought that one up to touch Athos's left hand. Spiritual flesh on spiritual flesh, Diana stroked those dangerous hands, hands she'd witnessed the power of when they'd sank into Krypto and ripped out the poor's dog's heart.

"_Is this the true you? The beast behind the boy?"_

Between fangs meant for ripping, for killing, came the cold, unvarnished truth.

"_I am what you and Father have made me. I am Athos, and I am doomed."_

"_Why are you doomed?"_

"_Because I have taken lives, spilled blood, done terrible things that have brought me immense pleasure. And I will do more, conquer those who think themselves so high and mighty."_

Diana held Athos' gaze, as well as his hands, not shrinking from the depraved bloodlust she heard in his husky voice.

"_You've killed? More than Krypto?"_

He nodded, looked away, and then faced her again.

"_I have. Each of them deserved their fate. They were lowlifes, a blight on society that needed purging. So I purged them. It made me feel better, normal, able to cope, to live, to be with you and Father the way you wanted me to be."_

So, Bruce's speculation had been correct. Two days after the incident with Krypto, Bruce forwarded Clark and Diana an electronic file. The file included places, dates, and deaths spanning six months. All the dates corresponded with times Clark was away from home overnight, as he'd been the night Athos had attempted to leave the Fortress while Bruce and Selina slept.

Bruce had theorized, as Clark and Diana had, that the night Krypto caught Athos had not been the first time the boy had slipped away from home unnoticed. But, with Clark's super hearing, getting in and out of the house undetected would've been nearly impossible when Clark was at home. The fact that neither Clark nor Diana had known of Athos' exploits until two weeks ago, the most likely time for Athos to slip away would have been when his father was away from home.

From that theory, Bruce began his search, looking for instances of unexplained and unsolved deaths on the days Clark was away from home. Based on the time Athos had tried to leave when caught by Krypto, Bruce inputted a four-hour timeframe into his search parameters, as he did the places Athos could reach by foot.

In the end, the search turned up several deaths, all criminals, some with gang affiliation, all linked to humanitarian missions Clark had taken Athos on.

Of course, Bruce had no evidence linking Athos to any of the murders, and his conclusions were mere conjecture. Still, Clark and Diana couldn't bury their heads in the sand and proclaim Bruce's findings as Batman paranoia or simple coincidence.

"_You now know what an irredeemable son I am. I tried to be normal, to fit in, to help instead of harm—be the heroic son of Superman and Wonder Woman."_

"_Are you saying you cannot, that there is no hope than the bleak future you've already painted for yourself?"_

"_You won't even look at him." _Athos pressed his face to the bars, breath hot. _"He's right there. Why won't you look at him, at what I will become in ten years? It can't be stopped."_

The third cage, thirty-feet high, fifty-feet wide, rattled to her right, mocking, cruel laughter emanating from within.

She should look, face the beast Athos thought himself as, the beast whose soul also contained the sweet innocence of the five-year old Athos as well.

"_I don't wish to see."_

"_Then you don't wish to know the truth."_

"_You're wrong, Athos. It is you who do not know the truth, do not understand."_

"_What is it that I'm missing, Mother?"_

Anger rippled through their joined hands. The heat from his breath poisonous vapors that could kill human, plant, and animal life, if this were the physical plane instead of a magical one.

Like Athos, Diana pressed her head against the bars, steel separating mother from son, but it was as close as she could get to him, heavy duty locks keeping him in. But, like Bruce, Diana couldn't ignore the evidence before her. Dozens of scratched and broken locks lay in a pile to the left of where Diana stood, silent testimony to how many times Athos had gotten out of his cage, giving in to the beast's need to hurt, to conquer, and yes, to kill.

Lifting her mouth, Diana placed a kiss to Athos' forehead.

"_This is the truth.. Sometimes it is best not to be who we are but who we aspire to be. Man or beast, Athos, you are capable of both. One is transcending yet demanding, the other uncomplicated yet devastating. The choice is yours—always yours."_

Later that night, when Clark spooned against Diana, her husband finally spoke the words she'd known he'd been thinking ever since she told him what she'd learned about Athos' soul, as well as the confirmation that Athos was, _dammit_, a killer. It didn't matter the revolting taint of his victims' souls. Athos had no right to serve as their judge, jury, and executioner.

"I have to take him away from here . . . away from Earth."

Clark's hand went to Diana's face, suddenly awash in tears, buried as it was in her downy pillow. She shook her head, not wanting him to see her cry, but unable to stop the burst dam of tears.

She wept into her pillow, hard and merciless and all-too reminiscent of how she'd cried when Hera turned Hippolyta into clay, a daughter without a mother, a heart that bled each day until her mother was returned to her.

If the same happened when Clark and Athos left, Diana would drown in a river of blood and tears, her radiant sun and rocky moon no longer in her starry universe.

"I don't want to. God knows, Diana, I don't want to leave you here alone."

She couldn't answer him, didn't want to acknowledge the agony she heard in Clark's trembling voice, because it would be too much for her to bear. Clark's big body cradled her as she wept, being strong for Diana instead of giving into his own pain at the separation to come.

"I'll teach Athos how to manage the beast within, how to control his monstrous urges. Then we'll come back to you. I promise."

Clark had made the same promise to Diana once before, when he'd fled Earth, thinking himself capable of controlling the Doomsday virus. True, he had returned—more beast than man and she'd nearly killed him, thinking the real Clark lost to her forever.

Would the Fates be so heartless as to have Diana go through that again, forcing her hand, putting her in a position to protect innocents by killing a loved one, by sacrificing her heart for the greater good?

"I promise, Diana. I promise. Wait for me."

Diana would wait, for as long as it took. She'd told Athos the truth of his soul. His nature was a contrary one—good and evil, man and beast, hero and villain. As much the nonthreatening five-year old as he was the Doomsday creature imprisoned in the third cage, which bespoke of contradictions and duality, not necessarily inevitability. People rarely fit into such noncomplex designs, but, more often than not, they did tend to gravitate more to one end of the morality continuum than the other.

Right now, Athos was just shy of the older teen in the middle cage, having given in to his darker side but not yet lost to the demon within. There was yet still time for Athos. Clark was right. Athos could not stay on Earth, and his father was the only person who could help him, the only person who knew precisely what Athos was struggling with.

Diana didn't want to lose them, didn't want to let them go. For the love of her son and the protection of Earth, she had no choice but to send Athos away with his father, hoping for their safe return.

Hope, a deception all its own, one her lasso would burn away if Diana held it in her hand.

Instead, she held Clark. His tears mingled with hers, his repeated promise pinpricks of conviction and confidence between them—sincere, desperate.

False hope.

Diana held onto that false hope with both hands.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

**Earth Prime**

**2014**

**Gotham City**

Bruce stared at the woman seated across from him. Five minutes ago when his secretary buzzed him that, "A woman who looks a lot like Wonder Woman is here to see you," Bruce thought he was prepared. But now, gazing into blue eyes identical to that of his friend and colleague, Bruce could see how, upon first glance, Clark could've mistaken this Diana for their Diana.

"You were expecting me?"

"Of course."

"I should have known Superman conceded too easily."

"Did you honestly think Clark thought a Diana, from any Earth, would be content to sit in an apartment and wait for others to determine her fate?"

After leaving this Diana in his apartment, Clark had contacted Bruce, telling him the strange story of a Clark and Diana from another time and place and their son born with the Doomsday virus.

"So now you know everything I do, Bruce. I'm going after Diana. I think I know where she's headed."

"Themyscira?"

"I hope not. If she's gone there, I'll have to wait for her to leave the island to speak with her. No, I think she's on her way to Washington, DC. At least, I hope that's where she's going."

"Tell me once more why Diana left your apartment."

"You're not funny, Bruce."

"The other Diana couldn't have looked _that_ much like Diana to confuse a man with your super senses, Clark. What were you thinking?"

"Well, that's not really important. I just called to—"

"Sex. You were thinking about sex. That's the only logical explanation for why you sexually assaulted a complete stranger in the presence of your girlfriend."

"I did _not_ sexually assault anyone. I can't believe you just said that. You know what, you're being an ass on purpose. I called for your help. This is not helping, Bruce."

"Well, the last time you got into an argument with Diana, she fled to Themyscira and you let two crazed Kryptonians escape the Phantom Zone. I don't think the world can stand too many more of your lover's spats. Do you?"

"Again, unhelpful. Look, just keep an eye out for Diana of Mount Olympus. If my guess is correct, she'll be heading your way sooner or later. I just want to find my Diana and clear the air. I'll be in touch once I have her and we've talked."

"Try not to screw it up."

"Well, you're just full of support today, aren't you, Bruce? Like a club upside my damn head."

"You called me, Clark, you called me."

And Bruce, despite his ribbing of Clark, was glad his friend had. Any plan that involved Batman from another Earth couldn't be good for Diana and Clark, especially a Batman they knew nothing about but one Bruce had met.

"My Kal wouldn't have," Diana said, answering Bruce's question and pulling him back to the present conversation. "But this Superman, this Clark Kent, is not my Kal, no matter how much they resemble each other."

"As much as you resemble Diana?"

She nodded.

Bruce contemplated.

They both did, continuing to stare at each other, silently appraising, measuring.

"You look like the Bruce of my Earth and time. Well, you look the way he did thirty years ago."

"You say that as if he hasn't aged well." Not that Bruce envisioned himself aging well, not with the way he pushed his body and the resulting injuries.

"He's dying, if that answers your question."

Well, that bit of information did more than answer his question, it raised more of them.

"From what?"

Diana crossed long legs, eyes suddenly calculating. "I don't know for sure but I suspect it has something to do with time travel and dimension hopping."

Bruce knew nothing of the device that had brought the other Batman to his time, but it wasn't hard to imagine that whatever the man had used to cross time and space would have physical repercussions on his human body.

_Maybe even mental repercussions as well. I wonder if Diana of Mount Olympus has thought of that, as well._

From the shrewd way she spoke of Batman, Bruce thought she might have.

"Why are you here, Diana? From what Clark told me, you came for him and Diana. Unless, of course, you have a device for me or are willing to come back and get me, I don't see what I have to do with your mission."

She gave him a slow, beautifully wicked smile. Diana had never smiled at him in that way. If she ever had, Bruce doubted they would've ever become friends. The more time he spent in this woman's presence, the more obvious the differences between Diana of Mount Olympus and Diana of Themyscira became.

He'd asked Clark about the Mount Olympus versus Themyscira part of her name, but Clark had no answer beyond the obvious. "I guess she grew up on Mount Olympus instead of Paradise Island like our Diana."

Yet watching the way she smiled at him, the distinction crystallized in Bruce's mind. For all of Diana's demigod power, Amazon warrior training, and that she was now the Goddess of War, Diana had an earthy presence that made one forget that she wasn't quite human, mortal.

This Diana, however, had none of Wonder Woman's down-to-earth appeal. Her godhood shown through and through—regal with an air of kindness yet superiority. She embraced her godly power, her place in the Greek Pantheon. That much was obvious to Bruce.

"From the way your irises have dilated, you just determined how unlike I am from the Diana you know and love."

"I don't lo—"

"It matters not to me, Bruce Wayne. Wonder Woman is an Amazon and understands the different kinds of love that exists in the world. All love is not romantic, Bruce, this we both know. Though you would do well not to have that particular conversation with Superman. A sacred trinity is what the world requires, not a love triangle. Besides, if you're anything like the Bruce from my time, you're destined to marry Selina Kyle."

Bruce's gaze narrowed at her presumptive words, but his heart secretly stuttered with thoughts of having Selina as a permanent fixture in his life. He didn't know how he felt about that, about the possibility of actually marry someone, of marrying Catwoman.

"To answer your question, I'm here to know what you and Bruce talked about when he came to visit you."

"What makes you think—"

She waved away the lie he was about to tell her with a sharp, "I don't have time for your Batman games, Bruce Wayne. And don't insult me with your lies. I may not know the what, where, or when, but I know Bruce would've sought you out when he traveled here."

Batman had done exactly that, a little more than a year ago. He'd ambushed Bruce in his own damn Batcave. Apparently, he and the other man had the same ideas about security codes as well as chosen nightly profession. He never saw Batman's face, for he wore a cowl similar to Bruce's, but his voice and knowledge of everything Wayne and Gotham convinced Bruce he was indeed speaking to an alternate version of himself.

After listening to the man spin a tale of "Four Horsemen" and "The end of days," Bruce had contemplated hauling Batman to Arkham Asylum. But there was one thing he'd told Bruce that could actually be proven, unlike all the other future babble he'd spouted.

He'd told Bruce that, based on the current timeline, Clark and Diana were about to enter into a secret romantic relationship. While he doubted the man's sanity, the information was easy enough to verify. More importantly, it would be easy enough to disprove and send the fool packing. So, one day, Bruce had simply slipped a small, discrete video device on Superman's cape.

He hadn't expected much. But, to his surprise, he'd gotten an eyeful—Clark and Diana, in the air kissing in front of Clark's Smallville home.

After that, Bruce wondered what else Batman had told him was true. But when he'd returned to the Batcave, it was to find the man gone, along with the secret files he kept on Wonder Woman.

And now a Diana from the same Earth had tracked him down as well.

"I only saw him once. He stole some documents from me and left."

"What kind of documents? Wait? Stupid question. What he stole had to have been documents you kept on Superman and Wonder Woman. That's the only thing that makes sense."

Diana stood and began to pace, braid long and flowing behind her as she walked in wide circles.

Bruce also stood, feeling, not for the first time, that he'd betrayed his friend by allowing his records on her to fall into someone else's hands—records neither Diana nor Clark knew anything about.

"Batman can't be trusted."

At his words, Diana stopped pacing and spun to face him.

"I know. Sometimes a good heart and noble intentions make for the worst of enemies. He has plans for my son, and I need to know what they truly are. Which means I need to convince Superman and Wonder Woman to return home with me."

Bruce plopped back in his black, leather executive chair, the ache of betrayal twisting his gut into tangled knots.

"They'll return with you, even when I advise them not to. They will go with you, put themselves in a situation they know too little about because that's the type of heroes they are. They live for peace, for righting wrongs, for helping others."

None of which Bruce had put in his records on Wonder Woman. He'd boiled her down to titles and power sets. Because they were his records, he hadn't felt a need to qualify or explain her personality beyond all the ways she was a warrior and a potential danger if she ever went rogue or was mentally manipulated and controlled. Now, Bruce was pretty sure he knew precisely why Batman needed Clark and Diana. And it had nothing to do with curing his friends' son.

_To destroy the so-called Four Horsemen. Could he have been right about that, too? Is this Earth and three others in danger of being decimated by their combined might? Should I try to stop Diana and Clark from going? What will happen if they don't go?_

"You're right. Until I met them, I was worried that Bruce was sending me here to bring back people who would hurt my son instead of try to help him."

"If he can be helped, Clark and Diana will do all in their power."

_But if he can't be helped, if he's a danger, one of the Four Horsemen, what will they do? What will you do, Diana of Mount Olympus? Fight by their side against your son or wage a mother's war?_

Bruce swiveled in his chair, giving Diana his back, not wanting her to see the fear and concern in his eyes.

* * *

**Earth-44**

**2030**

**Messina Province, Italy**

Athos stumbled and fell to the ground. Head pounding, eyes raging with a heated pain he'd never before felt, he dragged himself along the concrete, knowing he had to find someplace to hide.

_I can hear her. She's coming after me. Aunt Eris. _

Athos covered his ears, but it did no good. He couldn't shut out the constant blaring of sounds assaulting him at every turn. Everything, every damn thing he heard.

Flapping of butterfly wings.

Rustling of leaves.

Swishing of skirts.

Clicking, tapping, whooshing, thumping, on and on and on it went. An endless barrage of white noise that filled Athos' ears and head, excruciating in its intensity and relentless waves of sensory overload.

By the Gods, why wouldn't it stop? What on this side of Mount Etna was happening to him?

Sight.

Sound.

Smell.

Touch.

All his senses had betrayed him. He must truly be cursed by the Gods, for why else would he suffer so since leaving his prison-home?

He'd done it. He'd actually escaped. But what kind of freedom had Athos gained if it brought such indescribable pain and discomfort?

And the sun, by the gods the sun. He could no longer look upon the glorious orb, for each time he did his insides seemed to pull him towards the star. As much as it drew him in, as much as his body yearned to reach out and cradle it to his chest, it also frightened Athos.

And little in his sixteen years of life truly frightened the boy. But the power the yellow star obviously had over him did. As did the realization that he was now an emancipated soul with nowhere to go and no one to care for him.

He knew no one beyond his brothers of the forge and Hephaestus. Athos didn't even know where he was, though he was in a square surrounded by people.

He didn't need to open his eyes, his ears picked up the inane chatter of people.

"Why is that boy on the ground?"

"I didn't come all the way to Sicily to see a homeless kid on the street. I could've stayed in Miami if I wanted to see that shit. And it wouldn't have cost me a thing. Geesh."

"Is something wrong with him?"

"Hey, kid, are you all right?"

"Just keep walking, honey. Teens nowadays are crazy. He's probably on drugs or something."

On it went, people talking to and about him. Though most kept walking, too busy or too uncaring to offer assistance.

But those who did stop, concern lacing their voices, Athos couldn't answer, didn't even open his eyes or acknowledge them beyond grunts of pain that sounded more like the growls of a wildebeest than a boy in distress.

Forcing himself onto hands and knees, Athos crawled, letting his sense of smell and sound carry him along. With trembling hands, he reached up and found the edge of a stone structure. It felt hard, smooth, and warm from the sun. Pulling himself upward, Athos moved in the direction of the running water he heard. Standing, he pushed up, swung first one then the other leg over a barrier.

Then he fell—into blessed cool water. It covered him, a liquid and wholly inadequate respite from the sun. Still, the water felt good against his heated skin.

Holding his breath, Athos stayed like that. He had no idea how long he did, finding it strangely easy to go without oxygen for so long. But he had plenty of air in his lungs and no desire to move and find another hiding spot.

When Aunt Eris found him, and Athos had no doubt the goddess would, he would stand his ground and fight. No matter that his parents had given him away, Athos was the son of Superman and Wonder Woman. And, of the little he knew of the Justice Leaguers, they didn't back down from anyone, least of all a skinny, forked tongue witch out to cause trouble wherever she went.

Twenty minutes later, Athos lifted his head, breaking the surface of the water just enough to take in a breath of air before submerging himself once more.

Despite the odd things going on with his body and being hunted by a demented goddess, Athos was finally free. If he could get himself together and stay two steps ahead of Aunt Eris, Athos would do all in his power to find his parents. They may not want to see him, but that was too damn bad because he wanted to see them. They had the answers he sought. _Like why they gave me away. Why didn't they love me enough to keep me?_

Thoughts of his uncaring parents made Athos' head hurt even worse. But the hum of pain in his head paled in comparison to the sting of rejection in his heart. What was it about him that was so unlovable his parents had turned him over to Hephaestus to raise? Or perhaps his parents were the ones with the issue and not Athos.

He didn't know, but he did think he had the right to learn the truth. If nothing else, Superman and Wonder Woman owed him the truth. And he would have it. One way or another, Athos would have the truth from them.

At the thought, an unbidden snarl ripped from him, sending birds flying and water boiling.

Then he smelled her. She hadn't been there a moment ago, but she was present now. On the other side of the stone fountain.

_Jasmine._

Aunt Eris always smelled of jasmine, a woody/floral scent that smelled of fun and good times—an illusion. Everything with Aunt Eris was pure illusion, all for her own fun and good times, no matter how cruel, no matter how hurtful to others. Even when that other was her own flesh, her nephew.

"Come out, come out wherever you are."

The high pitched sing-song cackle of her voice grated. For too long Aunt Eris had been Athos' only mother figure. As much as he despised his weakness, there were nights when he'd lain awake hoping for a visit from her, wanting, no needing, the love and comfort of a woman, of a mother. Eris was the closest he'd had to that.

And how pathetic was that? Athos pining for the love and affection from the Goddess of Strife, Chaos, and Discord when all he wanted was to be held by the woman who had born then tossed him away. No, Wonder Woman was no better than Aunt Eris—sweet and caring on the outside but selfish and heartless on the inside.

"Very nice, the Fountain of Orion. Did you know, Athos, this fountain was built in front of the Cathedral in 1547. The work of architect Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli inaugurated a very important event for the city: the construction of the first aqueduct obtained with the conveyance of water in rivers Camaro and Bordonaro. The fountain is dedicated to the mythical founder of the giant Orion Messina."

She chuckled, arrogant and belittling, as if she a jaded tour guide and Athos a dimwitted tourist. Two steps put her closer to the fountain and Athos. "If you look above your cowering head, you'll see the figure of Orion, with the emblem of the city and the dog Sirius feet, stands on top of the fountain. Three groups with marble cherubs, nymphs and tritons, separating the two tanks where the water comes gushing out in the lower basin of twelve."

He heard and felt splashing water, and knew Eris was the cause of the disruption.

"If you haven't realized, you are in the basin of this magnificent structure, soiling it with your genetically impure presence."

Angry, Athos sat up, opened painful eyes, and met the gaze of a smiling Eris.

"Ah, there you are, nephew." Scrawny arms crossed, a dark brow arched. "Did you have fun? Is the outside world all you imagined it to be?"

Opening her arms wide, she twirled in a complete circle, her black dress with slits barely covering the areas Athos had no interest in seeing. In fact, he had no interest in seeing any part of his aunt, wishing the woman far away from him.

When she stopped, the faux smile was gone, replaced by an annoyed grimace.

"Thanks to your temper tantrum, Hephaestus is now probably tattling to Apollo or your father."

"I've never met the son god, and my father couldn't give a damn about me. Why should he care what you've been up to?"

The way Aunt Eris stared down at Athos was the way she'd looked at him the whole of his life. It was the look that said she knew far more than Athos ever would. And, unless it suited her purposes, she would never reveal even a morsel of her secrets to him.

"There will be repercussions, nephew. For me." She grinned—with wickedness and loathing. "For you."

Then she began to grow, like she did in his bedroom so many hours ago. But this time, her height extended so far upward that Athos had to crane his neck way back to see her full godly form.

Tourists and Sicilians scattered, their shocked and horrified screams echoing their retreat.

Over fifty feet, at least, all pale legs, arms, and godly power.

Black eyes glared down at Athos, her intention clear.

_She wants me dead._

"This isn't the way I thought it would end." The voice boomed down from on high. "The taste of revenge was to be so much sweeter than this. I wanted to see Diana's face when she learned the truth. Wanted to glory in the strife between my baby sister and her beloved alien."

What was she talking about? Athos was so confused, his mind not functioning as well as it should today. His body felt weak and strong at the same time. But the strength was painful and unwieldy, as if he would explode at any moment.

"But this will have to do, nephew." Aunt Eris' laughter shattered the windows of the nearby buildings, sending shards down, a violent rain of jagged glass and godly malevolence. "But this outcome could also work. After today, they will no longer be able to keep the secret from her. She'll suffer the death of her son twice. Your life, your presence was to be a constant reminder of Superman's ultimate lie, ultimate betrayal." She shrugged, as if she made perfect sense and weren't speaking in riddles.

If Athos understood nothing else Aunt Eris had just said, he'd picked up on one thing—_She hates my mother. But why? _

Dragging himself from the fountain, Athos faced down his enemy. Wet, exhausted, and body morphing from the inside-out, Athos refused to be cowed. If today were to be his day of judgment, he would face it like a man—chin and fists up.

"Oh, you are your father's son, aren't you, little Athos? You even have the glowing red eyes to show for it." She raised a huge foot in the air, her big toe larger than Athos' entire body. "You think to blast me with that puny heat vision of yours? Well, I don't think you have what it takes to best me. Your father chose poorly. I will show you that a goddess is far superior to that half-breed mother of yours."

The mammoth foot rose higher and directly over Athos, blocking out the sun and casting him in darkness.

The building heat and pain behind his eyes momentarily abated. But the force of it still pushed against his cerebral cortex—the pressure painful and near to bursting.

Lifting his head upward, eyes opened as wide as possible, Athos screamed. His entire body shook with the force of his scream, his frustration, his loneliness, and he directed it all at Aunt Eris.

The building pressure and scorching heat flooding his brain exploded in a red shaft of bright light.

The heat kept pouring from Athos—upward and outward. He couldn't stop, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't control this raw power escaping from him with the same desperate intensity as Athos when he'd broken through the walls that kept him inside his mountain of a prison.

Eris screamed, but the foot above him remained. Through the red haze, Athos could make out boulder-size holes in the goddesses' bare foot. Red and blistered, the deadly appendage hovered above Athos, still poised to squash him like the bug she thought him to be.

"You impertinent, child. How dare you? How. Dare. You."

The blistered foot came roaring down toward Athos, heedless of the fire still blazing from his eyes. Athos could do nothing but raise his arms and hands, praying he was strong enough to prevent his aunt from breaking every bone in his body, crushing him under the weight of her unjust fury.

A blur of red-and-blue pushed Athos out of the way, knocking him against the fountain. The hard shove had Athos tumbling to the ground and hitting his head—hard. But it was enough to stop whatever had happened to his eyes. He no longer emitted the red, glowing fire.

Blinking back pain, Athos watched, in stunned amazement the scene before him. He rubbed achy, blurry eyes. But nothing changed.

He was there, under Aunt Eris's foot and lifting upward with a might Athos could not have achieved.

_Superman. By the gods, that's Superman. My father. _

Yes, it was, holding off Eris with an impressive ease that had Athos struggling to a seated position, his back going against the fountain.

With a forceful shove, Superman sent Aunt Eris tumbling backward. The ground shook violently when she came crashing to the ground. Superman was there when she fell, his fists pounding her in the face and body, her godly form jerking from the force of his mighty blows.

"Athos may not have what it takes to best you, but I certainly do."

The fight continued, with Superman leveling blow after blow at Eris. But Aunt Eris was a god, after all, not so easily defeated by anyone, even Superman.

Grabbing the flowing red cape, Eris flung Superman off her and into the Cathedral behind the fountain. The right side of the structure cracked and crumbled from Superman's impact.

Within seconds, the red-and-blue blur was back, flying at the goddess with two balled fists stretched out in front of him. A deadly bullet, Eris his target.

Aunt Eris stood, still huge, still towering over all within sight.

Superman hurled his much smaller body into her stomach, fists and head first. Aunt Eris went sailing back, back, back, back.

Like the sun, so close yet so far, so went Aunt Eris until Athos no longer saw her pale, mocking, deceitful form.

She was gone, but the chaos she'd wrought remained.

Sighing in relief, Athos closed his eyes and took deep breaths to calm his nerves, to stay his fear, his anger.

When a figure stood in front of him, blocking out the sun once more, Athos debated whether to open his eyes and face the man who'd abandoned him sixteen years ago, but had saved him today.

With a final deep breath, Athos opened his eyes.

"Hello, Father."

"Hello, Athos."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
